


A Fate Worse than Death

by whichclothes



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-24
Updated: 2010-04-24
Packaged: 2017-10-09 03:02:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/82324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whichclothes/pseuds/whichclothes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>  Human-AU. The Assistant District Attorney, Lindsey McDonald, makes accused murderer William Pratt an offer he can't afford to refuse. </p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[a fate worse than death](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/a%20fate%20worse%20than%20death), [spike/dru](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/dru), [spike/giles](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/giles), [spike/lindsey](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/lindsey)  
  
---|---  
  
_**A Fate Worse than Death (1/8)**_  
**Title: **A Fate Worse than Death   
**Chapter:** 1 of 8   
**Pairing:** Spike/Lindsey (with bits of Spike/Dru and Spike/Giles)    
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer: **I'm not Joss   
**Warnings:**  angst, slash, dub-con, BDSM    
**Summary:**  Human-AU. The Assistant District Attorney, Lindsey McDonald, makes accused murderer William Pratt an offer he can't afford to refuse.    
**AN:**  The fabulous [](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/profile)[**blondebitz**](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/)  asked for HAU Splindsey, and I was very pleased to give it a shot. I hope you like it, my dear! All of the wonderful banners are her work. The fic is complete and I'll post one chapter a day.

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/0009ytb4/)  
---  
  
**A Fate Worse than Death**

**One**

 

He scowled at the floor, wondering how many pathetic sods had sat in this room before him, waiting to bargain away their lives. Next to him, his lawyer hunched over the table, earnestly shuffling papers and scribbling on a yellow pad. The lawyer was a good enough sort, but clearly in over her head, and she wouldn’t meet Spike’s eyes.

Spike startled a bit when the door swung open. His weeks in jail had made him jumpy. Not that he’d been all that relaxed to begin with. The Assistant DA strode in, smiling widely. Spike hadn’t seen him since the arraignment, when Spike’s face had still been battered and his head swimming in shock and confusion. But he’d noticed then how arrogant the bastard was, and he was just as cocky today, with his expensive suit and his carefully casual haircut.

“So,” the prosecutor said, sitting opposite them. “How’s the county been treating you, Mr. Pratt? Enjoying the local hospitality?”

Spike’s hands balled into fists. For once, he was glad he was cuffed, because otherwise he might have punched the smug git straight in his handsome face.

Spike’s lawyer cleared her throat. “Mr. McDonald, I think we’d better—“

“Call me Lindsey, honey. And you’re, um, Myrtle, right?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Willow. Willow Rosenburg. Not Myrtle and definitely not honey.”

Lindsey grinned. “Sorry. Willow, then. You’re new at the public defender’s office, aren’t you?”

“I’ve been there almost a year already, and that doesn’t really matter, does it? We’re here to discuss my client’s case.”

“Yeah.” Lindsey’s gaze slid from her to Spike, and his smirk didn’t falter. “William Pratt. Spike, right? The jury’s gonna love that one. Especially considering how you killed the victims.”

“I didn’t kill anyone, you—“ Spike began, but Willow silenced him with a hand gesture.

Lindsey laughed and sat back in his chair as if he owned the place. “Okay, then. Here’s the deal. I got enough on you to nail you on both counts, and I’m gonna ask for the death penalty.” Spike’s stomach lurched uncomfortably and he fought to keep his face straight as Lindsey continued. “Killing that pretty girl and her boyfriend like that, a jury’s gonna send you to the gas chamber. Now, in this state you might not ever see the inside of that gas chamber, but you’ll spend the rest of your life sitting on death row, and that I can guarantee you.”

“Mr. McDonald, if you came here just to frighten my client—“

Lindsey waved his hand. “I didn’t. I only wanted to give him a little lay of the land. This is your first murder case, right? So you might not be as familiar with all the details as I am. And Spike here needs all the information he can get so he can make a smart choice. Don’t you, Spike?” As little as Spike fancied the lawyer’s smile, he liked even less the way the man leaned toward him and stared into his eyes, as if Lindsey were trying to pick him up in a club.

“I didn’t kill those people,” Spike said, quietly. He remembered the photos the cops had waved in front of his face and his stomach clenched again.

Lindsey shrugged. “That doesn’t matter. What matters is I can prove you did, and I can convince the jury that you’re the worst monster who’s ever walked this earth, so that they’ll be clamoring for your blood before the trial’s half over. But if you’re willing to play, we can cut a deal today.” He leered slightly when he said “play,” as if it was an innuendo of some kind.

Willow pointed at Lindsey with her pen. “What are you offering?”

Lindsey didn’t even bother to look at her. “I want your boss, Spike.”

Spike hadn’t been expecting that at all. “My boss?”

“Yeah. I know he’s running the biggest meth ring in the county. You give me some good info on him and agree to testify against him, and I’ll let you plea out to voluntary manslaughter. With concurrent sentences, you’d be looking at ten years. That’s a hell of a deal, Spike. You’ll be out by your fortieth birthday.”

Spike shook his head. “I don’t know anything about a bloody meth ring. I repair cars for him, that’s all.”

The prosecutor stood. “You can keep on saying that all the way to San Quentin, Spike. But if you change your mind, you tell Willow here to give me a call.”

He knocked on the door and a moment later he was gone. Spike took a deep breath and looked at his lawyer. She looked very young and tired, like she’d been up all night studying for exams. “Well?” he asked.

She pulled a face and then patted his arm awkwardly. “I think you should seriously think about accepting his offer.”

Spike groaned and rubbed his face with his bound hands.

 

***

 

In his bunk that night, Spike squirmed on the thin mattress, trying to find a comfortable position. He was trying to ignore the jail’s nighttime sounds as well—snoring, whispering, muffled crying, the squeaking of a bedframe as someone wanked. He’d been here for three months and it hadn’t got any easier. What would it be like to be in prison instead, all hope of freedom dashed, never to step outside the high walls again?

Spike had never been much for staying in one place. He’d left England when he was fifteen and his parents died, spent a few years wandering around the Continent, and then made his way to the States, where transience was nearly a national pastime. He’d lived all over, picking up various marketable skills, taking jobs here and there, eventually becoming a good mechanic. When he arrived in Modesto he’d found a position at Angel’s garage and he’d been content there until one night the police had busted in the door to his flat. Spike had been fast asleep and reacted automatically, putting up a fight until the officers had subdued him with fists and boots and clubs. It wasn’t until the next morning, when the detectives came in to interrogate him, that he learned he was being charged with murdering his neighbors, a pretty girl who used to wave at him as she toted books and backpack from her car, and her boyfriend, who Spike had had the impression was some kind of construction worker.

He hardly knew them. He certainly had no reason to murder them.

Spike rolled on his side and pulled the blanket more tightly against himself. He replayed the afternoon’s conversation in his head, trying to find a more optimistic spin to it. But he couldn’t. His earnest lawyer had little experience and, seemingly, little hope. And although Spike had suspected that Angel was up to something illegal, Spike had purposely minded his own business and kept his head under cars’ bonnets. He really didn’t have any information to trade for his life.

 

***

 

As the trial approached, Willow was looking more and more haggard, and Spike was finding himself increasingly detached, as if this was all a film he was watching. Not a very good film, he thought. Willow said the evidence against Spike was strong—his prints on the wooden stake that had been used as a murder weapon, the victims’ blood and DNA in Spike’s old DeSoto, two eyewitnesses who claimed to have seen Spike entering the victims’ flat. And Spike didn’t have an alibi. At the time of the killings he’d been home, watching a footy match on the telly. Hell, Spike thought, he’d likely vote for conviction if he were on the jury.

Lindsey had repeated his offer a few times, but not recently. Perhaps he’d become convinced that Spike really didn’t know anything. Perhaps he was just looking forward to the drama of a capital trial.

Three weeks before the trial, Willow came to him with a grim little smile. “He’s offered you another deal,” she said.

Spike sighed. “What’s he want now?”

“He’s offering second degree if you’ll plead guilty.”

“And that would mean?”

“Twenty-five to life on each count.”

That was pretty much what he’s thought. “No,” he said. “If you’re gonna lock me up that long, might as well just kill me.”

“Sweetie, you could be out before you’re 55.”

He laughed bitterly. “And then what? I’d surely have loads of prospects. Look at me now. Not a felon yet and already I’ve been hardly more than a drifter. No, love. I’ll take my chances.”

She quirked her mouth and nodded. “Okay. I’ll do my best for you.”

“Ta.”

The next evening, just as Spike was about to settle into his bunk, one of the deputies pounded on the bars. “Pratt, you’re up!” he barked.

Spike blinked at him.

“C’mon, Pratt. Move your ass. You got a visitor.”

Not only was it well past visiting hours, but Spike had nobody to come see him anyhow. Frowning with confusion, he pulled on his jumpsuit and toed on his slippers. He obediently held out his hands to be cuffed, and then he followed the deputy down the hall.

Lindsey McDonald was waiting for him in one of the interview rooms. He wasn’t wearing a suit tonight, but jeans and a striped button-down shirt. One of his feet was propped on the edge of the table; he had on cowboy boots.

Spike remained standing as the door slammed shut behind him. As always, Lindsey looked like the cat that ate the canary. “You didn’t take me up on my offer,” he said.

‘”I thought we weren’t meant to talk without my lawyer here.”

Lindsey shrugged. “You can call for her if you want. But I’d kinda hoped for the chance to talk to you privately this time.”

Spike moved closer and sat opposite the prosecutor. He might as well listen. What did he have to lose? “What?” he demanded. He wished very badly for a cigarette, or at least to be able to cross his arms.

“So you’re not gonna rat on Angel, and you won’t cop to murder two. You’re either very stubborn or very stupid.”

“I’m innocent.”

Lindsey laughed like that was really funny. “Prisons are full of innocent men, man. It doesn’t matter if you are. I’m still gonna nail you.”

“I think we’ve already established that you’re the big bad lawyer, pillock. If you’ve brought me here to crow about it, I’d just as soon go back to my cell. Better company there.”

“Naw, man. I’ve got one more offer for you.”

Spike breathed deeply, in and out. “Why? If you’re so certain you’ll get a conviction, why offer me anything at all?”

“Because my plate’s kinda full right now and I’d rather not go to trial. And because I have a…personal interest in this.”

Lindsey’s face was flushed with excitement, Spike saw, and his eyes were bright and glittering. Spike could practically hear the man’s heart hammering in his chest. But he had no idea what had him so worked up.

“So?” Spike said.

Lindsey stood and walked around the table. He sat on the edge of the table very close to Spike and leaned in close. “I can drop the charges altogether. Just make the case go away. You could be out of this place by tomorrow afternoon.”

Spike narrowed his eyes. “You still think I have something to tell you about Angel?”

“No. I think you were just unlucky enough to work for the wrong guy. And I can’t wire you up and use you as a snitch, either. He’d figure something’s up the minute you got out of here. No, this has nothing to do with Angel.”

“Then what?”

Lindsey leaned down even closer, until Spike could feel his hot breaths puffing against Spike’s face. “I want you, boy,” Lindsey whispered.

Spike froze. Surely he didn’t mean…. “You’re bent,” Spike said.

“You have no idea,” Lindsey chuckled. It was a low, dirty sound. “Look, Spike. You’re a real pretty guy, and I’ve been kinda lonely. So I figured, why waste this chance? I drop the charges, you come stay at my place—a lot nicer than this shithole, as I’m sure you can imagine—and I fuck you. That way we both get off.” He laughed at his own joke.

Spike’s mouth felt dry, and if Lindsey wasn’t looming over him he would have jumped out of his chair. “I’m not queer,” he growled.

“Well, see, that would only matter if I was worried about you enjoying yourself. But I’m not. I’m a pretty selfish guy.” He smiled. “You can give it up to me or you can give it up to whoever decides to make you his bitch in the pen, Spike. I bet I’m a lot better looking.” He lifted his hand and cupped it around Spike’s cheek.

Spike did jump up then, causing the chair to fall back with a clatter. He backed up until he was against the door. “You’re insane!”

Lindsey shrugged. “Maybe. But I’m a crazy guy with a lot of power over you.” He stood and then leaned easily back against the edge of the table, looking very much at home. Very rational, actually.

Spike shuddered and then pounded on the door. “Oi!” he shouted. “Let me out!”

The deputy came a few moments later. Before he led Spike away, though, Spike looked back over his shoulder at Lindsey, who smirked. “Think about it, man. Am I really a fate worse than death?”

 

***

 

It was never really quiet in the jail, and Spike was never alone. For a man used to solitude most of the time, it was a difficult adjustment. It made it hard for him to think clearly. Sometimes he thought the whole thing was some sort of terrible nightmare, and he’d wake up in his own bed in his own little flat.

Instead he woke to the sound of yelling and banging and bootsteps clomping. When he got into line to walk to breakfast, the bloke behind him shoved him hard, knocking him into the one in front. Spike turned and growled and would have thrown himself on the man, but a deputy was right there, shouting at him to walk properly.

He shared a table with a pair of gang members barely out of their teens, a meth addict with rotted teeth, and a new inmate who looked ready to wet his knickers at any moment. Spike couldn’t bring himself to eat the chemical shite that they called eggs, so he nibbled on some toast and swallowed bitter, weak coffee.

The day was spent as they all were, listening to the other prisoners argue over what to watch on the telly. He had a book from the jail library—something with spies—but he couldn’t concentrate on it. For an hour they were permitted to use the exercise yard on the roof of the jail, and Spike jogged in a big circle around the edge, trying to sweat his problems away. It didn’t work, though. Instead, his footsteps pounded out a litany in his brain: “Locked up forever. Locked up forever.”

When they were let back inside, and the inmates went to visit with their family or call their girlfriends, Spike approached one of the deputies, a decent bloke named Ruiz. “Can I ring the prosecutor?” Spike asked. “I want to tell him I’ll accept his offer.”

   
[Chapter 2](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/122004.html)

 

 


	2.  A Fate Worse than Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   Human-AU. The Assistant District Attorney, Lindsey McDonald, makes accused murderer William Pratt an offer he can't afford to refuse. 

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[a fate worse than death](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/a%20fate%20worse%20than%20death), [spike/dru](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/dru), [spike/giles](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/giles), [spike/lindsey](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/lindsey)  
  
---|---  
  
_**A Fate Worse than Death (2/8)**_  
**Title: **A Fate Worse than Death   
**Chapter:** 2 of 8   
**Pairing:** Spike/Lindsey (with bits of Spike/Dru and Spike/Giles)    
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer: **I'm not Joss   
**Warnings:**  angst, slash, dub-con, BDSM    
**Summary:**  Human-AU. The Assistant District Attorney, Lindsey McDonald, makes accused murderer William Pratt an offer he can't afford to refuse.    
**AN:**  The fabulous [](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/profile)[**blondebitz**](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/)  asked for HAU Splindsey, and I was very pleased to give it a shot. I hope you like it, my dear! All of the wonderful banners are her work. The fic is complete and I'll post one chapter a day.

[Previous chapters here.](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=A+Fate+Worse+then+Death&filter=all)

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/000a00gc/)  
---  
  
**Two**

 

“Come on in, Spike.”

Spike scowled and stepped inside Lindsey’s house. They hadn’t spoken at all as they’d made the short drive in Lindsey’s BMW. Spike had spent the time turned toward the window, staring out at the electric blue sky. He didn’t feel any freer than he had inside the jail. At least he was out of the jumpsuit, wearing a pair of jeans and a black t-shirt and his own comfortable boots. It was practically all he owned. The few possessions in his flat had been sold or discarded by the landlord a month or two after Spike was arrested, and his car was still being held as evidence.

Lindsey’s house was a nice one, a beige stucco two-story in a gated community. The downstairs ceilings were high, the floors were of dark, rich wood, and the furniture was simple but expensive. Spike caught a glimpse of a back yard with a small swimming pool as he followed Lindsey across the living room and up the stairs. Lindsey led him down the upstairs hall and to a bedroom. It contained a twin-sized bed with a navy duvet, a nightstand and an alarm clock and a lamp, a chest of drawers, and an armchair. There was a flat-screen television on the wall opposite the bed.  The room had its own bathroom, with a tub and shower and toilet.

Lindsey sat on the bed and patted the bit next to him. “Have a seat, Spike. I want to go over the ground rules.”

Spike was wary, but didn’t want to make the man angry right off the bat, so he sat, angling his body away from the lawyer.

“I dropped all the charges. That doesn’t mean I can’t file them again, you know. But I won’t, not as long as you keep up your end of the deal. But let me warn you, if you make a run for it, I’ll file those papers right away, and there’ll be a warrant out for you quicker’n you can get out of the county. And if anything happens to me, I got a friend at the office—Lilah Morgan, the most stone cold bitch you could imagine—and she’ll have you strung up right away. You may not like me much, Spike, but believe me, you don’t want to face her.”

Lindsey looked at Spike earnestly, and Spike nodded. He had no intention of doing a runner. He didn’t fancy spending the rest of his life a fugitive. And he wasn’t a murderer.

Lindsey seemed satisfied, and he went on. “If this works out, in five years I’ll destroy the evidence and you can go, a free man. In the meantime, you get room and board from me. I’ll buy you some decent clothes. I don’t want you working. Well, you can keep the place picked up, maybe make me supper. Play housewife.” He grinned. “You have the run of the house, can use the pool and my exercise equipment and all that, but you don’t leave without permission. Don’t answer the phone or the door. I don’t exactly want to advertise your presence, you know?”

Spike did know. And he reckoned that if Lindsey’s boss got wind of what he was up to, Lindsey would be out a job—maybe even disbarred or thrown in jail himself—and Spike would be heading straight for trial again.

“Other than that, Spike, I ain’t asking for much. You just do what I tell you. And when I feel like fucking you, well, you bend over.” He set his hand on Spike’s knee, gently. It felt heavy as lead. “I’ll take it easy on you at first. Break you in nice and slow.”

Spike shuddered but didn’t move Lindsey’s hand away.

Lindsey lowered his voice to a hoarse rumble. “You think you can handle this, boy? Think you can be good for five years?”

Spike nodded again. Lindsey leaned over and breathed into his ear, and Spike stayed very still as the man licked across his cheek and then bit very softly at Spike’s bottom lip. “Mmm,” Lindsey purred. “You’re gonna be a treat.”

Lindsey stood. “I got some work to do. Take a shower, wash the stink of the goddamn jail off you. I’ll pick out something nice for you to wear. Then come on down, fix us some dinner. I got some steaks in the fridge. You know how to cook?”

“I can manage,” Spike said quietly.

“Good. I like my meat rare.” Lindsey leered slightly and then left.

The shower felt good. It was hot and private, and although the soap and shampoo were a bit poncy-smelling, they were loads better than the caustic jailhouse shite. Still, Spike didn’t feel clean when he finished. He used the thick, brown towel to dry himself. He found a comb and brush on a shelf, and an electric razor, and a toothbrush and toothpaste, and even deodorant. No hair gel, but then he’d lived without it in the jail, and he reckoned he could manage a while longer. Would Lindsey buy it for him if he asked? Or perhaps give Spike an allowance for incidentals like that? The thought of having to rely so completely on the other man made Spike feel ill.

Clothing was laid out on the bed: a pair of jeans, snugger than Spike usually wore but otherwise fine, and a very tight white t-shirt of silky cotton. That was all. No underwear, and when Spike checked the chest of drawers he found none there. There was no sign of the clothes he’d been wearing before. Sighing with resignation, Spike got dressed.

Lindsey was sitting in the family room, tapping away at a laptop. He didn’t look up as Spike entered. So Spike went into the kitchen and found the steaks, then dug around until he found a broiling pan and the rest of the things he needed to prepare dinner. He decided to bake some potatoes as well, and there was a bag of premade salad in the fridge. There was also a case of Coors. Spike took one out and, after a brief hesitation, called out, “I’m having a beer.” It wasn’t quite asking for permission, he told himself.

Lindsey glanced at him with irritation. “Don’t bother me while I’m working. But fine, go ahead. No more than two a day, though.”

Spike made a face as he popped the can open. The stuff tasted like piss and he wouldn’t be allowed enough to even get a buzz. He drank it anyhow; it had been months since he’d had any alcohol at all.

They sat across from each other as they ate, but didn’t speak. Lindsey read through a pile of papers and Spike mostly just chewed silently. The steak would have been delicious in any case, but after a diet of jail food it was bloody brilliant. Spike ate every bite, and even had seconds on the salad. Only when the food was gone did Lindsey finally grunt and look up at him.

“My bedroom’s the one next to yours. Meet me there in ninety minutes.”

Spike glanced at the clock. “What…what shall I do until then?”

“I don’t care. Clean up the kitchen. Leave me alone. Go watch tv in your room or something.”

Lindsey went back to his laptop as Spike washed up. When the pots and dishes were cleaned and put away, and the granite countertop was sparkling clean, Spike went upstairs. He sat on his bed and tried to watch the telly, but he couldn’t concentrate. He kept glancing at the clock, and he wondered if this is what he would have felt like on death row, waiting for the execution to take place. His stomach was a bit queasy and he regretted eating such a large meal. He wished he could at least get drunk.

Exactly one minute before he was due, Spike stood and stretched and took a deep breath. He momentarily considered backing out of the whole deal. But Lindsey had been right—this was not a fate worse than death, not even a fate worse than life without parole. He had survived a lot of things in his life and he’d survive this. He would pretend he was somewhere else. He’d lie back and think of England.

He walked the few feet of hallway between his room and Lindsey’s and, trying not to sound hesitant, knocked on the double doors. “Come in,” Lindsey called from inside.

Lindsey’s room was as sparingly decorated as the rest of the house. The bed was large and there was another chest of drawers and another television. Instead of a chair there was a loveseat arranged in front of a fireplace. Spike was surprised to see an acoustic guitar leaning in one corner of the room. The walls were bare, just taupe paint. A doorway off to one side gave him a glimpse of a big bathroom.

Lindsey himself was sitting on his bed, his back propped against the wooden headboard and his legs stretched out in front of him. He was still wearing the jeans and casual green shirt he’d been wearing at dinner, and his feet, like Spike’s, were bare. His lips were twisted slightly in a small grin. “Don’t just stand there, Spike. Come in.”

Spike stepped through the doorway and stood uncertainly halfway between the door and the bed.

“I wanna see what I bought,” Lindsey said. “Strip.”

Whatever modesty Spike had once had had been largely shed in jail. But as often as guards and fellow inmates had seen him naked, none of them had eyed him as hungrily as Lindsey now did, and never in jail had he had the certainty that the men staring at him would soon be touching him as well. Using him.

Spike swallowed and pulled the t-shirt over his head. He let it drop on the floor and then, as Lindsey waited expectantly, he unfastened his flies. He felt graceless as he pushed the tight trousers down his thighs and over his knees. He kicked them off as well and left them beside the shirt.

“Put your hands behind your head,” Lindsey ordered.

It was a familiar position, with his fingers laced together. Spike stared at some spot several feet to the right of Lindsey’s face, and he felt his jaw tighten almost painfully.

“Turn around. Slowly.”

Spike complied, Lindsey’s gaze burning his skin like fire. When he was again facing the bed, Lindsey just looked at him for several moments. Finally, Lindsey said, “You could stand to put on a few pounds of muscle. There’s a room downstairs full of weights and shit. Use it every day.”

Spike nodded.

“You ever been with another man, Spike?”

This time Spike answered out loud. “No.” It was almost true. When Spike was young his best mate—his only mate, actually—was a slighter older boy called Wesley. Wes had an astonishingly large collection of pornographic magazines and videocassettes, and he and Spike would hide out in his bedroom after school and wank to images of naked blondes with big tits. One afternoon as they lay on Wes’s bed, their trousers pushed down to their knees and Marilyn Chambers flickering on Wes’s little telly, Wes had reached over and grabbed Spike’s hard cock. Spike had been momentarily shocked, but the other boy’s bigger, rougher palm felt so unfamiliar and brilliant as it worked him, that Spike couldn’t bring himself to try and stop him. Instead, Spike, too, had moved his hand over, and he’d wrapped his fist around Wes’s cock. It was shorter and wider than his own. They’d both come very quickly and very hard. They never spoke of it, never moved beyond masturbating each other, never even looked at one another as they did it, but they continued to do it nearly every afternoon for months. Then Spike’s parents had died and he’d run off, and that was the end of it.

“Come closer,” Lindsey said, almost startling Spike from his brief reverie. Lindsey gestured with his hand, and Spike slowly moved forward until his knees hit the bed. His hands were still behind his head.

Lindsey looked him up and down and then, very lightly, traced a fingertip down the center of Spike’s chest and abdomen. Spike’s skin twitched and he shivered. He shivered again as Lindsey fingered one of Spike’s nipples and then the other, teasing them into hardened little peaks. “These’d look pretty pierced,” Lindsey murmured. “Might have to see about that.”

Spike thought for certain Lindsey would move his hand down after that, making more of Spike’s body his own, but instead he let his arm drop and he swung his legs around so his feet were on the floor. “Kneel,” he ordered, lightly pushing Spike into position between his spread knees.

It took all of Spike’s self-control to obey, and then he found himself with his face inches from the other man’s denim-covered crotch, while Lindsey tugged and pulled at Spike’s hair. “All right,” Lindsey said, his voice quiet and rough. “Unbutton me.”

Spike’s fingers didn’t even feel like his own as he worked clumsily at Lindsey’s flies. He could feel the firm flesh beneath, could see the bulge if he allowed his eyes to focus properly, but he pretended he couldn’t. When the jeans were opened, Lindsey said, “Take my cock out, boy.”

Lindsey was wearing underwear—silk boxers, actually—and Spike stuck his hand in and touched it gingerly to hot skin, then pulled Lindsey’s cock out through the slit in the boxers. Lindsey was circumcised, and the head of his cock was an angry-looking red. He was well-hung, both long and wide, and Spike had to suppress a shudder at the thought of all of that forcing its way inside him.

“Kiss it.” Spike pressed his lips to the crown, and Lindsey hissed as their skin connected. “You know what to do, boy. You do a good job, now.”

Spike had had a girl a few years back, a barmy, beautiful bint who used to demand that Spike go down on her. And he would, spending seemingly hours lapping at her, with her thin thighs pressing against his ears and her long nails raking furrows into his shoulders, and she’d press his face against her cunt until he could barely breathe and she’d scream for more. He’d known when she got in these moods that she’d never let his cock inside her that night, that she wouldn’t notice or care whether he got off, but he hadn’t minded. He’d liked giving her pleasure that way, and usually he’d come anyhow, spending himself onto the sheets as he rutted against the mattress.

Against all reason, certainly against his will, he found himself now in very much the same state of mind he’d been in when he’d serviced Dru, losing himself in the task before him. Spike’s world became very small as he began to lick at the rigid organ. He felt the carpet below his knees, cushiony and slightly rough. He heard his own uncertain breathing and Lindsey’s, the small hitches and gasps as oxygen worked its way in and out of their lungs. He smelled soap and beer and, faintly, the slightly musky scent of the man himself. And he tasted Lindsey, slick and salty on his tongue.

Lindsey clutched at Spike’s hair until it hurt, but so had Dru, once upon a time, and it was a familiar and not unwelcome pain. The feel of a cock in his mouth, that was new, but it didn’t disgust him as he’d expected it would. He had to fight not to gag when Lindsey pulled Spike’s head down a bit, forcing his cock deeper inside, and Spike’s jaw began to ache, but his nerves had settled and for the first time since he’d decided to agree to Lindsey’s terms, Spike felt something besides dread and regret.

He didn’t know how long he knelt there, but finally Lindsey groaned and thrust into him, and then Spike tasted warm spend, bleachy and thick on the back of his throat.

Lindsey released Spike’s hair and Spike slid his mouth off Lindsey’s softening cock with a small slurping noise. A bit of semen and spit had dripped out the corner of his mouth and Spike wiped it off with his thumb and then swiped his thumb on his thigh.

Lindsey’s face was slightly flushed. He grinned down at Spike. “You sure you’ve never done that before?”

“No, I…. No.”

“Well, you must be a natural then, boy. And an eager one, I see,” he added with a leer. “I thought you were straight as an arrow.”

Only then did Spike realize that his own cock was stiff and aching, the foreskin retracted to display the damp head. His face blushed hotly and he ducked his head.

“Well, you can go back to your room and take care of that,” Lindsey said. “I got an early morning meeting. Gotta keep those bad guys off the streets, you know.”

Spike stood and scooped his clothing up and, without looking back at Lindsey, he left.

[Chapter 3](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/122292.html)  
 


	3.  A Fate Worse than Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   Human-AU. The Assistant District Attorney, Lindsey McDonald, makes accused murderer William Pratt an offer he can't afford to refuse. 

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[a fate worse than death](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/a%20fate%20worse%20than%20death), [spike/dru](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/dru), [spike/giles](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/giles), [spike/lindsey](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/lindsey)  
  
---|---  
  
_**A Fate Worse than Death (3/8)**_  
**Title: **A Fate Worse than Death   
**Chapter:** 3 of 8   
**Pairing:** Spike/Lindsey (with bits of Spike/Dru and Spike/Giles)    
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer: **I'm not Joss   
**Warnings:**  angst, slash, dub-con, BDSM    
**Summary:**  Human-AU. The Assistant District Attorney, Lindsey McDonald, makes accused murderer William Pratt an offer he can't afford to refuse.    
**AN:**  The fabulous [](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/profile)[**blondebitz**](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/)  asked for HAU Splindsey, and I was very pleased to give it a shot. I hope you like it, my dear! All of the wonderful banners are her work. The fic is complete and I'll post one chapter a day.

[Previous chapters here.](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=A+Fate+Worse+then+Death&filter=all)

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/0009thyf/)  
---  
  
**Three**

 

It may have been gilded, but it was still a cage, Spike thought. While Lindsey was at work all day, Spike was in the house. He exercised. He swam. He took a long, hot bath—and that was bloody brilliant—and cleaned the sodding house. He had a sandwich for lunch and wondered whether he was meant to make dinner as well. Lindsey hadn’t given him instructions before he’d left. Spike stared at the telly and poked around the house, where he found nothing much of interest. Lindsey had a remarkable lack of personal belongings—no photos or artwork, no books except legal materials and a few spy thrillers, no souvenirs or knickknacks. Nothing at all to give any indication of what the man was like or what his history had been. Nothing except the guitar, that is. It looked worn and well-used and the strap was frayed.

By the time Spike heard the garage door open it was nearly eight, and he was wondering how the bloody hell he was going to manage five years of this.

Lindsey looked tired when he came inside, but he smiled at Spike, who was sitting in the family room, trying not to look expectant. Lindsey was carrying a pizza box and Spike’s mouth watered at the smell of hot cheese and pepperoni. Lindsey plopped the box down on the coffee table, lifted the lid, and pulled out a slice. “Help yourself,” he said with his mouth full. “I’m fucking starving. No, wait. Get us some beers first.”

Spike wanted to bridle at being ordered about, but instead he walked silently into the kitchen and fetched a pair of cans from the fridge. “Could at least get some decent shite,” he mumbled, handing one over to Lindsey.

“Hey, I was raised on this shit.” Lindsey popped the can open and took a long chug. “Besides, beer’s beer.”

Spike gave him a baleful look but didn’t argue. Instead he took a piece of pizza himself and bit into it, swearing quietly when he burned the roof of his mouth. They both settled into chairs, and there was an awkward silence as they ate. What kind of small talk was appropriate with the bloke who’d just bought you as his sex slave?

Finally, Spike asked, “You do this often?”

“What? Eat pizza?”

“Make whores out of blokes you’re prosecuting.”

“Nope. You’re my first.” His grin was so smug Spike had to look away. “I’ve never really had the chance before. But you’re so damn pretty, and you don’t have any friends or family to try and haul your ass away, and my boss doesn’t really care about those murders anyway.”

“Why not? They were just kids. Don’t they have family calling for justice?”

“Nope.” Lindsey reached for another piece of pizza. “She was an orphan, his folks are a couple of drunks who were mostly worried about whether they could get some victim compensation money. And besides, she was dealing some pretty heavy shit. Isn’t that why you offed them?”

Spike blinked in confusion. “She was a drug dealer? I thought she was a student. She always had that bag over her shoulder.”

“Camouflage. She sold at the college.” Lindsey tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. “You trying to tell me you didn’t know?”

“How would I? We’d just wave at each other, now and then. Didn’t even know their names until I was arraigned. Doubt I ever said more to them than ‘hello.’” He remembered the shock of hearing those names as he stood in the courtroom, still numb from his arrest. Odd names—Buffy and Xander—and he’d never known them until their owners were buried.

“Then why’d you kill them?”

Spike sighed. “I didn’t.”

“Spike, I’ve seen the evidence. I wasn’t shitting you about your conviction being a shoo-in. You don’t swap DNA with people by waving at them.”

Spike could only shrug.

Lindsey gestured at the pizza box, and Spike stood and put it away in the fridge. While he was there he grabbed another two cans of Coors and brought them back with him. Lindsey was frowning, and he took his beer distractedly. “You trying to tell me someone set you up, Spike?”

“I didn’t say that.” He hadn’t, not once, even though he knew it must be true. But insisting on it only sounded like a bad excuse, and besides, who would bother to implicate him? Nobody cared enough about him to hate him that much.

“Then what’s your story?”

Spike only shook his head. “Doesn’t matter, does it? Only matters what the jury would say, and we both know what that is.”

Lindsey nodded, but he still looked thoughtful. “I’ve got more work to do. Gonna be late. Go on upstairs so you don’t bug me. I won’t be using you tonight.”

Spike was relieved at the reprieve, but he still had trouble sleeping that night. When he finally did fall into an exhausted slumber, he dreamt of people carrying bits of bodies in backpacks.

 

***

 

Lindsey came home even later the next night, this time carrying paper bags from In-n-Out. He seemed distracted as they ate, his mind clearly far away. But after only two days, Spike was going stir-crazy from the solitude. He crumpled up his hamburger wrapper and shoved it in the empty bag, then folded his arms. “How long until I can have a field trip?” he asked.

Lindsey focused on him for the first time that day. “Bored already?” he asked.

“I’ve been locked up nearly a year.” He tried not to sound like he was begging. “Let me go someplace.”

Lindsey gnawed at his lip thoughtfully. “Okay. Tomorrow’s Friday. I’ll take you shopping when I get home.”

Spike nodded slightly. It was pathetic to be grateful for such a small liberty, but he was.

“Gonna thank me properly?”

“Thank you,” muttered Spike, but he had a feeling that wasn’t what the lawyer had in mind.

Sure enough, Lindsey shook his head. “Nah, that’s not gonna do it, boy. I wanna see some skin. Strip.”

Spike flushed at the reminder of his status, but he stood and took off his clothing, leaving it in a small pile on the chair. Lindsey watched avidly and, when Spike was completely bare, beckoned at him. Then he pointed at the floor just in front of him and Spike obediently knelt. When he reached over to unfasten Lindsey’s trousers, however, Lindsey batted his hands away. “Not yet. I wanna watch for a while first. Play with yourself, Spike.”

Spike’s face grew even hotter. “Bent,” he mumbled under his breath, but he wrapped his left hand around his cock and began to stroke. He had to close his eyes, because he didn’t want to look at Lindsey and didn’t want to look down at what he was doing to himself. But even with his lids tightly shut, he could _feel_ the weight of Lindsey’s gaze on him. As the organ beneath his palm filled and hardened, Spike realized that his own spine felt tingly and his breathing was already labored, and oh, Christ, he was getting off on this!

He continued to work himself for some time, never for one moment forgetting that he had an audience. His fist grew slick with pre-come and he was very close to climax when Lindsey growled, “Come here, boy.”

Spike’s eyes flew open to stare at Lindsey. At some point the other man had pulled his cock out of his trousers and now he was rubbing himself in synchronicity with Spike’s movements. Spike shuffled forward on his knees and, without being told to, began to lick Lindsey’s cock. It already tasted familiar, but what truly disturbed him was the knowledge that he _wanted_ this, that if he wasn’t holding tightly to the base of his own cock he likely would have come as soon as his lips touched that slippery, reddened flesh.

Lindsey moaned, but he noticed Spike’s eagerness as well and chuckled. “Didn’t realize you were such a little slut, boy. Guess this ain’t gonna be such a chore for you after all.”

Spike couldn’t answer with his mouth full.

Lindsey’s grip on Spike’s hair became tighter, and he used Spike’s hair like reins, forcing Spike’s head down farther and faster. Spike gagged and tried to relax his throat, and he swallowed Lindsey down so far that his nose was buried in the dark curls at Lindsey’s groin and he could feel Lindsey’s balls swinging against his chin. He was beginning to wonder whether he might actually suffocate like this—it wasn’t exactly how he fancied dying—when Lindsey grunted and lifted his hips, and Spike felt thick, hot liquid enter his throat. That was too much for him—he loosened his hand on his own cock and with two quick tugs he was coming hard, spurting his release onto his belly and chest.

As Spike pulled his mouth away, Lindsey ruffled his hair affectionately. “Go clean up. I got work.”

 

***

 

“You ready to go?”

It was a stupid question. Spike had been ready for hours, wandering restlessly about the house and berating himself for being such a bloody pillock. Besides, what was there to prepare? He was wearing another of the tight t-shirts Lindsey had bought for him—this one was blue—and jeans and his boots. And they were only going shopping, for Christ’s sake! Still, Spike couldn’t help the small thrill of excitement that ran through him as he sat in the BMW. He was going somewhere, and that was a novelty.

Lindsey took them through a McDonald’s drive-through first. “It’s a small town, Spike. I don’t want to risk being seen with you.” That was fine. Spike hadn’t exactly expected a candlelit dinner. It was pleasant enough in any case to be sitting on Lindsey’s posh leather seat and listening to the radio and watching the traffic rumble by. He didn’t move away when Lindsey reached over to thumb a bit of secret sauce off the corner of Spike’s mouth.

“If you could, would you go back to England?” Lindsey asked.

“Nah. Haven’t been there in nearly a decade. ‘S not really home anymore.”

“So where is home, then?”

Spike shrugged. “Dunno. Always reckoned I’d know it when I found it.”

“Yeah. Me, too.” Lindsey sighed.

“Not here?”

“Nope. I grew up in Erick, Oklahoma. You ever been there?”

“No.”

“Well, you ain’t missin’ nothin’.” Spike noticed that the lawyer’s accent had changed, become slower, more rounded. A bit of a backroads drawl. “Got my ass outta there as soon as I could, and I ain’t looked back since. I’ve lived in California since I got a scholarship to UC Hastings.”

For some reason, it hadn’t occurred to Spike before to wonder about the man’s history. “You still have people in Oklahoma?”

“Fuck if I know. We weren’t exactly close. My Daddy’s probably drank himself to death by now. Ma…I don’t know. Probably on husband number six or seven. And Darren—that’s my brother—he died a long time ago. Got himself shot tryin’ to rob a liquor store, the dumb shit.”

Spike couldn’t help a smirk. “So you’re the good one of the lot?”

“Oh, you think I’m _very_ good, boy,” Lindsey replied, and reached over to squeeze at Spike’s groin. To Spike’s complete mortification, his cock immediately began to harden under the touch. What was this bastard doing to him?

Lindsey laughed and pulled out of the parking lot.

Ten silent minutes later, they merged onto the freeway heading north. Spike frowned at Lindsey, puzzled. “You don’t fancy the Safeway near your house?”

“Oh, we ain’t going grocery shopping. This’ll be way more fun than that.” He didn’t seem inclined to give more details, so they drove without speaking for nearly a half hour, until Lindsey finally exited somewhere in north Stockton. Lindsey piloted the car through several twists and turns then, until he finally pulled to a stop in a car park in front of a big white building.  “Fantasy Island,” read the neon sign.

Spike’s stomach tightened up again.

Spike trailed reluctantly behind Lindsey as they entered the place. The two salesclerks near the door gave them a bored look and went back to reading their magazines. Lindsey grabbed a red plastic basket and shoved it at Spike. “Here. Carry this.”

They wandered around the shop for some time, with Lindsey occasionally throwing an item into the basket. Spike didn’t want to look at the things too closely, but most of them seemed to involve leather and/or chrome. He also ended up toting an impressive selection of bottles and tubes, enough to make him wonder just how many varieties of slick could possibly exist in the world, and what looked like a lifetime supply of condoms. When the basket was full and heavy, Lindsey turned to him with a grin. “Anything you’d like to add?”

Spike gritted his teeth and shook his head.

As they headed back down the freeway, though, Spike did have a request. “Could we stop at a bookshop?”

Lindsey glanced over at him in surprise. “I didn’t peg you as a reader.”

“Why? Because I’m a killer? Or because I’m a mechanic?”

Lindsey actually looked slightly embarrassed. “Both, I guess. I mean, you don’t have much in the way of schooling….”

“Just because I didn’t go to university doesn’t mean I can’t read.” And he added under his breath, “Berk.”

“Okay. Bookstore it is.”

So they stopped at a Borders that was near the freeway, and Lindsey followed Spike around the store with a cup of coffee in his hand while Spike chose several novels. Thick ones, mainly. He’d have plenty of time to wade through them. Spike was humiliated not to be able to pay for his own books, but Lindsey pulled out his credit card good-naturedly, and even helped Spike haul the heavy bags back to the car.

Finally, they did make it to the supermarket. Spike made most of the choices there, with Lindsey chiming in now and then about his preferences. In the liquor aisle Spike gazed longingly at the whiskey, but at least he was able to persuade Lindsey to purchase Heineken instead of Coors.

Back at Lindsey’s house, Lindsey plopped down in front of the television in the family room while Spike put away the groceries and carried the books up to his room. He didn’t have a shelf, so he just stacked them against one wall. He was just putting the last one away when he heard footsteps behind him. Lindsey was standing in the doorway with the red plastic bag from Fantasy island clutched in his hand. “Didja enjoy your little excursion?” he asked.

“Yeah. Ta.” Despite his dread at what he knew was going to happen next, he was sincere. It had been nice to have a taste of freedom.

“Good. Take your clothes off and meet me in my room to show your appreciation, boy.” Lindsey turned on his heels and left.

Spike undressed as slowly as he dared, but it still didn’t take long to remove his kit. Feeling more naked than he ever had before, he walked to Lindsey’s room. Lindsey was sitting cross-legged on his bed, bare-chested but still wearing jeans. He was very muscular and either his chest was naturally hairless or he waxed. A dark line of hairs did lead from beneath his navel down under his waistband. To Spike’s enormous relief, none of the toys they’d bought that evening were visible, although his breath did catch slightly at the sight of the plastic bottle on the nightstand and the small packet beside it. Lindsey waved impatiently at him and Spike approached the bed, and then he allowed Lindsey to turn him around so his back was to the other man. He tried not to tense as Lindsey ran hands over his shoulders, down the center of his back, onto his buttocks. Lindsey’s palms were very warm and the fingertips on his left hand were calloused. From playing the guitar, Spike reckoned.

“You have a nice ass,” Lindsey remarked, rubbing at the body part in question.

Spike didn’t reply. His own hands felt heavy and stupid hanging at his sides. When Lindsey nudged slightly at the inside of his thighs, he widened his stance a bit, and then he wasn’t surprised at all to feel a blunt finger trace down his cleft and then delve slightly inside. Just when he’d relaxed a bit, though, Lindsey slapped him lightly on one cheek and then took his hands away. “Okay, boy. Up on the bed on all fours.”

Spike found himself unable to move. “I…I can’t,” he rasped.

“Sure you can. Unless you’ve been missing your bunk at the jail.”

Spike took a deep, steadying breath, turned around, and, without looking at Lindsey, crawled onto the bed. He wasn’t positioned to the other man’s liking, however, and Lindsey tugged and pulled at him until Spike was crossways on the mattress with his legs wide apart and his feet hanging over one edge. He hung his head and closed his eyes as Lindsey massaged his buttocks, separating the cheeks and the pushing them together. Once or twice Lindsey reached underneath Spike and caressed his bollocks and cock, but Spike remained flaccid.

After a few moments, Spike felt Lindsey move away slightly. There was the tiny sound of plastic on plastic, and then Lindsey was back, this time stroking down Spike’s crack with a slippery finger. “The more you relax, the easier this is gonna go for you,” Lindsey said.

“Can’t we just…another time, yeah? I’ll…I’ll blow you instead.”

“And you’ve got quite a knack for giving head, but no. You’re gonna be just as chickenshit about this if we wait, so you might as well chill out now.” As he said the last word, he pushed a finger into Spike’s sphincter.

It didn’t hurt. The digit was plenty slick, and, what with body cavity searches and all, it wasn’t the first time a bloke had been there. But still Spike found himself panting and struggling not to tremble. Until, that is, Lindsey moved his finger a bit, and he must have pressed against Spike’s prostate because suddenly an electric thrill of pleasure was running up and down Spike’s spine and he let out an involuntary little huff of surprise.

“Like that, do you?” Lindsey chuckled softly. He moved his finger some more and then added a second one, twisting and stretching and rubbing so that Spike was torn between crying out that it was too much and begging for more. His cock was fully erect now. If he opened his eyes he’d see it bobbing between his legs, but he kept his lids shut.

When Lindsey withdrew his fingers, Spike nearly complained.

There was the metallic rip of a zip being undone and then the small tearing sound as Lindsey opened the condom packet. A moment later, Spike felt the big, hard head of Lindsey’s cock nudging against his entrance. “It won’t fit,” he wanted to say, even though he knew that was ridiculous. And in any case, then Lindsey was pushing _in_ and it did fit.

Lindsey was being slow and cautious, Spike knew, but it still hurt as he felt himself stretched to impossible proportions and then filled. “Oh, fuck,” Lindsey moaned. “You are so goddamn tight.”

Lindsey was still for a bit. Spike’s erection had wilted as he was penetrated, but soon the discomfort ebbed away, and Spike’s cock reawakened when Lindsey reached under again to caress him. “You take it real nice, boy,” Lindsey crooned at him. “Like you were made for it. You like that?” And he rubbed his thumb slightly into the damp slit of Spike’s cock.

Spike wanted to yell back that of course he didn’t like it, he was being sodding buggered against his will. But the fact was, it was beginning to feel really bloody nice, with sensations that made all his previous shagging seem lackluster in comparison. Then Lindsey rocked his hips a bit, dragging his cock in such a way that Spike cried out and thrust backwards, and then forwards into Lindsey’s fist.

Soon they were both moving, Lindsey pounding into him hard enough that it hurt, but it felt so brilliant that the pain didn’t matter. Spike’s arms wouldn’t hold him any longer and he allowed them to fold so that his shoulders were pressed into the mattress and his nose was in Lindsey’s sheets, drawing the scent of the man into his lungs with every breath. He lost all sense of time and the entire universe centered around his cock and balls and arse and really, he thought with the small amount of his brain still capable of thought, that wasn’t such a bad universe to be in. It was simple and Christ, it was bloody good.

Spike could tell when Lindsey was close. Lindsey’s movements became jerky and his grunts louder and then, with a loud gasp, he froze in place. Spike wasn’t quite over the edge, though, and he wiggled a bit. Lindsey ran his free hand down Spike’s spine and said two words, and those words were what finally sent Spike into a shuddering climax.

 

***

 

Spike tossed and turned in his bed that night, unable to sleep. His insomnia wasn’t due to lingering stickiness—he’d taken a hot shower as soon as he was back in his room. And although his arse was sore, both on the inside and on his cheeks, where Lindsey had slapped him happily before withdrawing his softening cock, those were minor discomforts. No, what was keeping him awake was the memory of those two words Lindsey had said, and what those words had done to Spike. Even now, he trembled and grew hard as they echoed in his head.

“Good boy,” Lindsey had said.

 

[Chapter 4](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/122849.html)

 


	4.  A Fate Worse than Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   Human-AU. The Assistant District Attorney, Lindsey McDonald, makes accused murderer William Pratt an offer he can't afford to refuse. 

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[a fate worse than death](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/a%20fate%20worse%20than%20death), [spike/dru](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/dru), [spike/giles](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/giles), [spike/lindsey](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/lindsey)  
  
---|---  
  
_**A Fate Worse than Death (4/8)**_  
**Title: **A Fate Worse than Death   
**Chapter:** 4 of 8   
**Pairing:** Spike/Lindsey (with bits of Spike/Dru and Spike/Giles)    
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer: **I'm not Joss   
**Warnings:**  angst, slash, dub-con, BDSM    
**Summary:**  Human-AU. The Assistant District Attorney, Lindsey McDonald, makes accused murderer William Pratt an offer he can't afford to refuse.    
**AN:**  The fabulous [](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/profile)[**blondebitz**](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/)  asked for HAU Splindsey, and I was very pleased to give it a shot. I hope you like it, my dear! All of the wonderful banners are her work. The fic is complete and I'll post one chapter a day.

[Previous chapters here.](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=A+Fate+Worse+then+Death&filter=all)

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/0009wfgb/)  
---  
  
**Four**

 

“Tell me about Angel.”

Spike looked incredulously at Lindsey over their bowls of pasta. “If I meant to rat on that wanker, don’t you think I would have before I took this deal?”

“I don’t mean about the meth. I believe you that you don’t know anything about that. Just, what’s he like as a person?”

It wasn’t a question that Spike had expected, but he didn’t see any reason not to answer. He certainly had no special loyalty to his former boss. “Dunno. Didn’t see him all that much, really. He’s the one who hired me, but he leaves most of the day-to-day things at the garage in his manager’s hands.”

“Penn, right?”

“Yeah. Don’t much fancy the bloke, but he mostly left me alone. I only wanted to repair cars. I’m good at it.” He was aware that his voice sounded plaintive, but couldn’t help it. He missed the days when it was his skills beneath the bonnet that were appreciated, and when his biggest trouble had been a balky transmission.

But Lindsey looked interested in the first part of his statement. “What didn’t you like about Penn?” he asked, leaning forward on the table.

“He’s an arrogant bastard. Perhaps a bit barmy, yeah? Likes to play about with this blade he keeps in his belt. Don’t know whether he’s trying to be scary or what, but it’s mostly just annoying.”

“He has an airtight alibi for the murders. He was visiting his mother in the hospital in Minneapolis. We’ve got airline receipts, doctors and nurses as witnesses.”

Spike blinked at him. “I hadn’t known he was a suspect.”

“He wasn’t. Not really. But I had my investigators look into him anyway, just to rule him out.”

Spike stabbed his fork into his rotini as he tried to gather his thoughts. Finally, he asked, “Was Angel a suspect as well? In the murders, I mean?”

“Not initially. I mean, the only thing that ties him to those kids is you and drugs, and we didn’t even know she was dealing at first. But now….”

Spike swallowed and put down the fork. “Why do you need another suspect if you know I’m guilty?”

“I don’t know that you’re guilty. In fact, I’m having some serious doubts about it. I just know I could _prove_ you guilty. It ain’t the same thing.”

“You believe me when I say I’m innocent.”

Lindsey shrugged. “Maybe. So tell me more about Angel.”

“He’s…kind of a quiet bloke. Frowns all the time. I’ve never seen him work on any car but his own, and he wears posh suits. He’s only in the garage about half the time, and spends most of that in his office.”

Lindsey was toying with a bread crust, moving it about in the crumbs on his plate. “What did the other guys at the garage think of him?”

“They said he has a temper, but I rarely saw him do more than glower. They said he runs a pretty tight ship. We didn’t cheat the customers. I heard if you didn’t work hard you’d be out on your arse, but that was never my problem. He doesn’t tolerate drinking or drugs on the job. Makes everyone piss in a cup every once in a while.”

“The garage is his front, you know. His straight company. It’s supposed to keep the cops’ noses out of his business.”

“I’ve worked in loads of places over the years. This one wasn’t any better or worse than the rest. Like I said, I mostly kept to myself. Wasn’t there to make friends.” Spike drained his bottle of Heineken. “So, what? You figure Angel put me up to the killings, maybe to get rid of a competitor?”

“I don’t know. You don’t strike me as the hitman type, really. And you did a pretty piss-poor job of it, really. Almost like you wanted the evidence to lead to you.”

“Somebody did.” It hadn’t occurred to Spike until just now that his former boss had framed him for the murders. He knew somebody had, but hadn’t really thought about who. This made sense, though. From Angel’s standpoint, Spike was pretty expendable, and, as hardly more than a drifter, Spike would make a pretty tempting suspect. And Angel knew that Spike had no family or friends to back him up, to vouch for his character. “Fuck,” he groaned, and rubbed his temples with his fingers.

Lindsey ate silently.

“What’ll you do if you find enough to tie him to the murders? Will you pin him with them, or keep them hanging over my head?”

“You that anxious to leave already? You seemed to enjoy last night.”

“I’m your fucking whore!” Spike erupted. “No, not even a whore—whores get paid. I’m your bleeding slave.”

When Lindsey didn’t respond, Spike pushed his dishes away and leapt to his feet, then stomped up to his room. Which wasn’t his room at all, of course.

 

***

 

It was several hours later when Lindsey came into Spike’s room. Spike was sitting on his bed, not reading the book in his hands. Lindsey’s face was emotionless but his eyes were flashing. “Strip and come to my room, boy,” he ordered.

Spike threw the book to the floor. Growling incoherently, he tore off his shirt so violently he heard the seam rip, then shoved his jeans down to his ankles and off his feet. He stomped after Lindsey as loudly as a man in bare feet could stomp. Lindsey had dragged one of the dining room chairs upstairs. It was of some kind of reddish wood, with a high back and an upholstered seat. Lindsey sat on it and then looked up at Spike expectantly. “Lie down on my lap, boy.”

“What? No!” Spike backed up a step.

“We can do it this way or I can get out that paddle I bought the other day. What’s it gonna be?”

Spike’s face was flaming and he had to fight back tears of anger and humiliation. He walked over to Lindsey, though, and bent over. Lindsey moved him about a bit until Spike’s chest and belly were on top of Lindsey’s thighs, while Spike’s head  and arms hung down low and his arse, of course, was upturned.

Lindsey rubbed Spike’s cheeks for a moment as if he were warming them up and then, with no warning, he walloped Spike really hard. Spike yelped, but Lindsey pinned him in place with a hand between Spike’s shoulder blades and then hit him again. After that, he seemed to find a rhythm, alternating his strikes between one side and another. The ache faded after a bit, and for a time Spike felt almost numb, but then the pain began to build again as his skin grew sensitized and bruises began to form. But it was only when Lindsey paused for a moment that Spike realized first, that Spike was crying, great, hitching sobs with snot and tears running down his face, and second, that he was also hard as a rock. In fact, he was humping Lindsey’s leg frantically, like a dog, and when Lindsey again began to hit him, Spike came, his spend shooting out in a sticky stream over Lindsey’s trousers.

Lindsey stopped hitting him and Spike just hung there, gasping and hiccoughing a bit, trying to catch his breath. Now Lindsey’s palm was soothing as it travelled up and down Spike’s lower back and then up to his shoulders.

Finally, Lindsey shook his knees a bit, and Spike sort of rolled off him and onto the floor, where he lay in an undignified, sniffling heap. He would have sat, but it hurt too much.

“That wasn’t a punishment,” Lindsey announced. “Though you earned one for speaking to me disrespectfully. That was a demonstration.”

“Of what?” Spike asked softly. His voice was hoarse.

“Of what you want. Or need, anyway. You keep saying you don’t like this, don’t want this, but look how your body’s responding. You can try to fool yourself, but you ain’t fooling me. I don’t know if someone screwed with your head or what, but this is what you are, boy. You might as well stop fighting it and enjoy.” He paused and flexed his hand, which appeared to be sore from the spanking. “How do you feel right now? Honestly?”

Spike tried to assess the swirling mess in his head. “Tired. Empty. Embarrassed.”

“Are you angry?”

“I’m…no. I expect not.” It was true. He felt as if all the rage had been wrung out of him.

Lindsey stood and held out a hand towards Spike. Spike averted his eyes from the stains on Lindsey’s jeans and took the offered hand, using it to lever himself to his feet. Lindsey was a bit shorter than him, but somehow Spike felt very small. Lindsey ran a thumb across Spike’s tearstained face. “Go clean up and get into bed.”

Like a child, Spike obeyed. He limped into his room and used a flannel to wash his face and his groin, and then he climbed into bed. Even the pressure of the blankets was too much on his bum, so he just starfished across the mattress on his stomach with the sheets pulled up to his thighs.

He was almost asleep already when Lindsey came in and padded over, then settled on the edge of the bed. Spike tensed a bit, but all Lindsey did was set something cool and soft on Spike’s bottom. It felt lovely.

“Frozen peas,” Lindsey said. “Make sure you keep them wrapped in the towels. Wouldn’t want you to get frostbite on that pretty ass.” He clasped his hand briefly around the back of Spike’s neck, and then he left.

 

***

 

Spike paced around the house. It was Sunday, but Lindsey had gone away somewhere. Spike had soaked in the pool for a time—the cool water felt good on his still-heated skin—but now he walked back and forth from room to room like a lion in a cage. He was trying to be honest with himself, and that was new for him. He wasn’t often very self-reflective.

Was Lindsey right?

Every time he considered that possibility, his mind shied away from it. All right, so perhaps he wasn’t as straight as he’d thought. Fine. But that didn’t mean he wanted to be some bloke’s toy.

Except. Except last night, despite the bruising that kept him from moving much, he had slept better than he had in ages. He’d felt somehow at peace, which was bloody ridiculous. And a small voice was telling him that if he just gave in, just let Lindsey truly own him, he might actually be happy.

He wasn’t sure what happy felt like. He hadn’t had a pleasant childhood. His father was distant and angry, his mother distracted with her own affairs. He’d always had the suspicion that they wanted neither him nor one another. Still, it had been an enormous blow to him when they died—he was too young to be alone, but couldn’t face any of the distant relatives who were nearly strangers to him. So he’d convinced himself he could take care of himself just fine. And he had, more or less. He’d kept himself out of more than minor trouble, he’d parlayed his interest in cars into a reasonable trade, he’d seen a quite a bit of the world. But he hadn’t settled anywhere for long, and he hadn’t really made any friends. The only girl he’d stuck with for longer than a shag or two was Dru, and he’d really loved her, but she was alternately needy or rejecting, and she never loved him back. In a way, it had been a relief when she left him for another bloke.

But was this what he had been looking for all these years? A smug lawyer who wanted to keep him like a pet—except when he wanted to bend him over and bugger him? A bloke who was happy to use him but didn’t really care about him?

When Lindsey finally returned home, Spike was no closer to any answers.

 

***

 

“So I paid a little visit to a girl today,” Lindsey announced that evening.

Spike glared at him from the opposite end of the sofa. Was he meant to feel jealous?

But Lindsey ignored him and went on. “Pretty blonde thing with a bust measurement bigger than her IQ.”

Spike feigned indifference.

“You know her, actually. Name’s Harmony.”

“Angel’s Harmony?” Spike said with surprise.

“The same. She claims to be a receptionist and office girl, but I’m guessing she does more than his books.”

“Yeah, probably. I mean, I never saw anything between them, but he doesn’t keep her around for her Excel skills, and they spend a good bit of time in that office together. But I don’t think she’s really a bad sort. Can’t picture her murdering somebody.”

“She’d probably break a nail.  But you’re right. I don’t think she has a clue what Angel’s up to. She _does_ remember overhearing a phone conversation about a year ago, though, and during that conversation Angel was talking to someone about your DeSoto. She said she thought you might be trying to sell it or something, but then a few days later you got arrested and that was that.”

“And she was willing to share all this with the DA?”

“Oh, she doesn’t know I’m a DA. She thinks I’m a reporter doing a story on a pair of grisly murders. Made me spell her name back to her so it’d be right in the article. She told me some interesting stuff about you, too.”

“Like what?” Spike asked warily.

“She said she thought you were a good guy, cute but maybe kind of boring. That you didn’t talk much to anyone at the shop and didn’t join them for beer after work. She thought maybe you were in the witness protection program or something because you seemed to be all alone.”

Spike snorted. Harmony was such a dozy cow.

 “And she said the afternoon of the murders Angel sent everyone home early, and you tried to stay and finish up someone’s Lexus, but he wouldn’t let you.”

“Yeah, that’s right. I was nearly done with it, too. Just another hour or so.”

“Why’d he say he was closing up early?”

“Said he wanted to do an inventory of the place. Some sort of rubbish about taxes.”

“Doing an inventory with his manager off visiting his sick mother—that’s kinda strange.”

Spike nodded. “Yeah. But not enough to get him a ticket to death row.”

Lindsey stroked his chin thoughtfully. “How’d he get your car? You didn’t lend it anyone, did you?”

“Nah. If I had, my lawyer would have mentioned that.”

“Your lawyer’s a sweet kid but she was in way over her head. So how’d he do it, then?”

“It was parked outside my flat and he knew where I lived. Hell, Penn helped me find the place. My last flat was a real dump, and Penn suggested this one. Angel could have taken the car while I was inside and returned it without my ever knowing it was gone.”

“Without keys?”

“I could start her up in less than a minute without a key. I expect he could as well.”

“Right. Mechanics.”

Something blew up noisily on the television screen, catching both of their attentions. Lindsey turned the volume down a bit and scooted around so his bare feet were in Spike’s lap. Spike shifted a little uncomfortably—his arse was still sore—but then settled back against the cushions.

“Okay, “ Lindsey said. “So he had a motive and opportunity, and he could have borrowed your car. He wouldn’t even have needed it for long, just enough time to stick the bodies in the trunk and then drag them out again. How’d he get your prints on the murder weapon?”

Spike thought about this for a moment. “It was a wooden stake, yeah?”

“Yep. Not exactly your average MO, but it’ll do the job. It did do the job.”

“Could he have transferred my prints from something else? Plenty of things I’ve handled around the garage.”

“Nope. The crime lab says you touched that stake. But maybe…. Spike, that stake used to be something else. A broom handle, maybe.”

“Used a broom all the time at the garage, sweeping up little bits. A mop, too, sometimes, if I’d dripped oil or fluids.”

“He could have made a stake from that.” Lindsey bit at his lip. “But what about the witnesses? Two of them, and they’re not Angel’s people. One of them’s a lady who lives across the street. She saw you heading for the victims’ place when she went pulled into her driveway. And the other was a teenager out waiting for a ride. You’ve got pretty distinctive hair, Spike.”

Spike automatically put his hand up to touch his head. The natural color had grown out while he was in jail, but Lindsey had brought him some hair bleach and he was now back to a platinum blond. “I dunno. A wig, maybe?”

“Maybe. But Angel’s several inches taller than you and a lot heavier. I don’t think anyone would mistake him for you, even with a wig.”

Spike didn’t have an answer to that. All he knew was that it wasn’t him, and he could never prove it.

Lindsey scratched at his cheek for a moment, his fingernails rasping on his weekend whiskers, and then shrugged. “It’s gonna take more work.”

“But now you really do believe I’m innocent.”

“We’re none of us innocent, boy. But yeah. I don’t think you killed those people.”

It was stupid, but that statement loosened something inside Spike. He almost smiled.

[Chapter 5](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/123653.html) 


	5.  A Fate Worse than Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   Human-AU. The Assistant District Attorney, Lindsey McDonald, makes accused murderer William Pratt an offer he can't afford to refuse. 

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[a fate worse than death](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/a%20fate%20worse%20than%20death), [spike/dru](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/dru), [spike/giles](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/giles), [spike/lindsey](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/lindsey)  
  
---|---  
  
_**A Fate Worse than Death (5/8)**_  
**Title: **A Fate Worse than Death   
**Chapter:** 5 of 8   
**Pairing:** Spike/Lindsey (with bits of Spike/Dru and Spike/Giles)    
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer: **I'm not Joss   
**Warnings:**  angst, slash, dub-con, BDSM    
**Summary:**  Human-AU. The Assistant District Attorney, Lindsey McDonald, makes accused murderer William Pratt an offer he can't afford to refuse.    
**AN:**  The fabulous [](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/profile)[**blondebitz**](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/)  asked for HAU Splindsey, and I was very pleased to give it a shot. I hope you like it, my dear! All of the wonderful banners are her work. The fic is complete and I'll post one chapter a day.

[Previous chapters here.](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=A+Fate+Worse+then+Death&filter=all)

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/0009x8e1/)  
---  
  
**Five**

 

It was funny how the strangest things could become routine. Spike had learned that lesson in jail, and now he learned it again. He spent his days as well as he could, reading, swimming, exercising, cleaning, but by the time Lindsey came home each evening Spike was hungry enough for company of any kind that he’d greet  Lindsey like an eager puppy. Lindsey would hand over his briefcase and stray files, and he’d give Spike a hard, sloppy kiss, then ruffle his hair and swat his bottom and demand dinner. Spike felt like a complete berk for not only allowing this treatment, but enjoying it.

They would sit at the table over whatever meal Spike had cooked. Lindsey would talk about some of the cases he’d worked on, or Spike would talk about some of the places he’d lived. Lindsey had never been anywhere but the States and Mexico, and he seemed to enjoy Spike’s descriptions of foreign places. Their dinners were comfortable and domestic in a way Spike had never experienced before.

Afterwards, Lindsey would do more work while Spike washed up. Eventually they’d end up in the family room with something on the telly, each of them with a beer in hand. Spike was learning to sip slowly, to make his two beers last the evening. Lindsey was learning to bring home something better than American pisswater.

Around eleven o’clock, Lindsey would go upstairs and Spike would follow along behind him. In Lindsey’s room, Spike would suck Lindsey off, or Lindsey would fuck Spike, or sometimes both. Then Spike would head to his own room and his own bed and wash up before going to sleep.

On weekends, Lindsey worked as well, but at home instead, with his laptop and papers scattered across the dining room table. He’d take breaks from the work and they’d go for a drive. They’d stop at bookshops or the supermarket. One Sunday afternoon when there was a touch of autumn in the air, Lindsey drove them east, up into the foothills. They ate at a Mexican place—the first restaurant meal Spike had had since his arrest—and tromped around a bit in the woods. Spike had spent most of his life in cities and had never really thought of himself as a nature person, but it was nice to be out of doors, inhaling the forest’s scents and feeling the pine needles’ springy softness underfoot.

It was the weekend after that, when Lindsey was again buried in legal pads and manila files, that Spike plopped down on the chair opposite him. “Is this Angel’s case you’re working on?”

Lindsey glanced up, slightly irritated. “Yeah. The drugs part. We’re gonna be filing the complaint really soon. We’ll get some warrants then, and I’m hoping we’ll turn up some evidence on the murders, too.”

“Why do you want him so badly?”

Lindsey out his pen down. “’Cause my boss wants him. Giles is up for re-election next year and he wants a juicy conviction.”

“And what do you get out of it?”

Lindsey bit at his lip. Spike had noticed that he did that when he was uncertain or deep in thought. “I didn’t set out to be a prosecutor. I wanted to work for some fat-cat firm where I’d make big bucks. But even with the scholarship I had to work when I was in law school—for a while I was holding down three jobs and going to school full-time—and I didn’t graduate at the top of my class. Didn’t get offers from those fancy firms. But if I bring in a couple of high profile cases like Angel’s, those firms are gonna want me. And then instead of sending drug dealers to jail I can work some civil cases, maybe defend some corporate clients. I always did like antitrust law.”

“So Angel’s your ticket to the big leagues.”

“Pretty much. Besides, I really don’t like meth—my brother was hooked on the shit, did I tell you that?—and I’d love to bring the motherfucker down.”

“Oh,” Spike said, and looked down at his hands, which were clenched on the tabletop. When he looked up again, Lindsey was giving him a long, considering look. Then Lindsey stood.

“Come here. We’re gonna try something new, boy.”

A not-unpleasant shiver ran down Spike’s back, and he was already half-hard by the time he made it around the table. Lindsey cupped his hand around the front of Spike’s trousers and laughed. “You are an eager beaver,” he said, and Spike flushed and felt his cock fill even more.

Lindsey took Spike’s hand and led him up the stairs. To Spike’s surprise, they went to Spike’s room. But when Lindsey said, “Clothes off,” that was completely expected, and Spike quickly stripped.

Lindsey gathered up his discarded clothing. Then he went through the chest of drawers and removed everything from them—the half dozen pairs of tight jeans and dozen or so snug t-shirts he’d bought Spike, as well as the single outfit Spike had worn out of the jail. Spike trailed behind Lindsey as Lindsey walked to his own bedroom, then Lindsey stuffed Spike’s clothes onto a shelf in his big walk-in closet.

“New rule,” Lindsey said, grinning. “When you’re inside, you’re naked. I’ll give you something to wear if we’re going somewhere, but otherwise it’s bare skin. Got it?”

Spike’s erection didn’t flag at all. “Got it,” he said quietly.

“But you won’t really be 100% naked. Got a few things for you to put on, and they don’t come off unless I say so. Go kneel on the bed. Hands behind your back.”

With mixed curiosity and trepidation, Spike did so. He heard Lindsey rooting about in the cupboard for a moment or two, and then Lindsey appeared with a red plastic bag in his hands. Spike was familiar with those bags, and he swallowed thickly.

The first thing Lindsey drew out of the back was a short, heavy steel chain. He wrapped the chain around Spike’s neck and then padlocked it shut. He pocketed the key. For a moment, Spike felt like he was choking, but Lindsey tugged on the collar once or twice, and it was clear that, while Spike could not remove it without a key, there was plenty of give around his throat. “I would’ve rather had one in leather,” Lindsey said. “But this is better because you can have it on all the time, even when you shower or swim. Looks real pretty on you anyway. Plays up the delicacy of your neck.” He stroked his fingertips lightly on the side of Spike’s neck and Spike trembled and felt his cock twitch.

But his breath hitched slightly when he saw the next items. There were two of them: a silicone device shaped a bit like an oversized finger with a wide base, and a complicated-looking chain contraption. Lindsey slid the silicone thing through a wide metal ring in the chain, and Spike realized that the chain was a harness.

“Bend over, boy,” Lindsey ordered. Spike hesitated a moment and then complied. Lindsey worked Spike’s hole quickly and efficiently with first one slicked finger and then two and then, when Spike felt relaxed and open, Lindsey slid the plug into him. Then Lindsey tugged Spike upright by the shoulder and messed about a bit with the harness, until the harness was fitted snugly around Spike’s hips and between his legs. Lindsey locked it in place as well, and gave it a few experimental yanks to make sure it was secure. Even though the plug was nowhere near as big as Lindsey’s cock, it felt huge inside Spike, perhaps because he knew it would be there for some time.

Lindsey looked very satisfied with the results. “That’s staying put, too. I’ll have to unlock it to let you take a crap, but like the collar, it can stay on in the water.”

The knowledge that he was going to have to rely on Lindsey’s assistance and largesse just to empty his bowels made Spike’s chest feel tight and his face was once again blushing furiously. But his cock was hard as ever and now leaking precome.

“Wanna see something fun?” Lindsey asked. He pulled a small, black plastic box out of his trousers pocket and pressed a button. Spike gasped when the toy inside him immediately began to buzz in a way that stimulated him almost painfully. Lindsey’s smile was broad and his eyes sparkled. “Remote controlled. We’ll have to find out later what the range of this thing is.” He pushed the button again and the plug stopped vibrating. Spike wasn’t certain whether he was disappointed or relieved.

It was clear that Lindsey wasn’t finished yet, but before reaching into the back again, he looked at Spike’s aching cock and frowned slightly. “This ain’t gonna work,” he muttered to himself. Then, more loudly, he said, “I need you to get rid of that hard-on. Jack off.”

Spike was humiliated and angry to be forced to perform under Lindsey’s impassive gaze like an animal on display. But his cock didn’t get the memo—it practically leapt into his palm of its own accord. Lindsey started playing with the remote control again, turning the buzz on and off, and in no time at all Spike was rocking his hips and rubbing himself vigorously, and then coming, spraying himself on the chest.

Lindsey made a satisfied little noise, stuffed the remote in his pocket, and traipsed off to the loo. He came back a moment later and carefully, almost tenderly, cleansed Spike’s torso and cock and scrotum with a warm, damp flannel. He wiped Spike’s hand off as well, while Spike just sat on his heels, feeling sated and slightly woozy, as if he needed to be tucked into bed.

With as much efficiency as he’d prepared Spike’s sphincter, Lindsey swiped a thin layer of slick onto Spike’s now-flaccid cock. Then Lindsey pulled the last item out of the red sack. The item was made of clear, thick plastic and had two main parts. Spike didn’t protest as Lindsey clicked the ring around the base of Spike’s ballsac, nor when Lindsey slipped the longer piece over Spike’s penis. The two bits attached to one another with some plastic pins, and then the whole thing was locked on with yet another padlock. The device had several wide holes for ventilation, and thick slit at the tip which would allow Spike to urinate. But it fit him quite snuggly, and it was clear that not only wasn’t he going to be able to touch his cock, but even getting hard was going to be an impossibility.

Lindsey looked him over. “You’re gonna have to sit down when you piss. But that’s a small price to pay. You look good, boy.” He smiled and tweaked Spike’s right nipple. “You look like I own you.”

“Bloody hell,” Spike whispered to himself, because the emotion he felt strongest right then was pride.

 

***

 

When Lindsey came home, Spike tackled him even more enthusiastically than he normally did, nowadays. Lindsey laughed and patted Spike’s arse. “Behave yourself, boy, or I won’t let you come tonight.”

The words distracted Spike only slightly, even though it had been nearly a week since Lindsey had last removed the cock cage. “’S not that,” he said. “Although that would be brilliant. Please,” he added, because it never hurt to ask nicely.

“Then what?” Lindsey pushed past Spike and kicked off his shoes, then shrugged off his suit jacket. Spike took the jacket and hung it on the back of a chair. He’d need to remember to collect Lindsey’s dry-cleaning before the morning.

Spike grasped Lindsey’s shoulders. “I’ve remembered something! I’d forgotten about it, but I was taking a nap this afternoon and I had a dream and I remembered.”

Lindsey lifted an eyebrow. “You took a nap?”

“Distracts me from…things,” Spike mumbled. “But that’s not the point. I bloody _remembered_.”

“Remembered what?”

“Angel and Penn got in a row once. They were just outside the office, and I didn’t hear much until they started yelling. Angel said, ‘That bitch is after my money again,’ and Penn said, ‘I told you you shouldn’t have told her nothing, man.’”

Lindsey gnawed at his lip. “So Angel’s got an ex, potentially disgruntled, who might have some info.”

Spike grinned. “Yeah.”

“Don’t suppose you have a name.”

“Got a first name. Darla.”

Lindsey’s eyes went very wide. “Oh, shit! Oh, _shit_!!” On what looked like slightly shaky legs, he made his way over to an armchair and collapsed.

“You know who she is?” Spike asked.

Lindsey nodded. His face had gone pale as chalk. “I’m pretty sure she’s my boss’s wife.”

[Chapter 6](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/124412.html) 


	6.  A Fate Worse than Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   Human-AU. The Assistant District Attorney, Lindsey McDonald, makes accused murderer William Pratt an offer he can't afford to refuse. 

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[a fate worse than death](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/a%20fate%20worse%20than%20death), [spike/dru](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/dru), [spike/giles](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/giles), [spike/lindsey](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/lindsey)  
  
---|---  
  
_**A Fate Worse than Death (6/8)**_  
**Title: **A Fate Worse than Death   
**Chapter:** 6 of 8   
**Pairing:** Spike/Lindsey (with bits of Spike/Dru and Spike/Giles)    
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer: **I'm not Joss   
**Warnings:**  angst, slash, dub-con, BDSM    
**Summary:**  Human-AU. The Assistant District Attorney, Lindsey McDonald, makes accused murderer William Pratt an offer he can't afford to refuse.    
**AN:**  The fabulous [](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/profile)[**blondebitz**](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/)  asked for HAU Splindsey, and I was very pleased to give it a shot. I hope you like it, my dear! All of the wonderful banners are her work. The fic is complete and I'll post one chapter a day.

[Previous chapters here.](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=A+Fate+Worse+then+Death&filter=all)

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/0009ytb4/)  
---  
  
**Six**

 

Spike had worked fairly hard over dinner that night, a roast chicken with white wine sauce and herby polenta and greens. He’d been watching the cooking shows. But they both merely picked at it, neither of them tasting much of anything.

“Do you expect he knows about them?” Spike asked.

“That would help explain why he’s gunning so hard for the guy. But then why hasn’t he got the scoop from Darla already?”

“Because she can’t testify, right? He doesn’t want anyone to know his missus has been bonking a drug lord.”

“Fuck.” Lindsey groaned and let his head sink to the table.

“So this Giles bloke knows very well what Angel’s up to, but he can’t reveal what he knows. He hands the case over to you and hopes that you come up with something on your own.”

“It’s more complicated than that,” Lindsey mumbled into his arms. “Giles and I used to…. I was his boy once. When he first hired me. Nobody knows but the two of us. And now you.”

Spike was speechless. He’d reckoned that Lindsey must have learned his tricks from somewhere, but it hadn’t occurred to him that that somewhere was the District Attorney. He could picture it now, though. Lindsey young and hungry, desperate for the big break that his mediocre grades wouldn’t earn him. A man might be tempted to take advantage of that.

“What…what are you going to do?” Spike finally ventured.

“I guess I’m gonna have to have a talk with my boss.”

 

***

 

As it turned out, Giles was gone for the next two weeks, attending some conference in Washington, D.C. Spike rattled nervously around the house, and when Lindsey came home at night they were both too keyed up for more than a quick shag.

Three nights before Giles was due back, Lindsey pulled his semi-hard cock out of Spike’s mouth. “This ain’t working.”

Spike looked up at him. “Sorry. I’m doing my best and—“

“It’s not that. Let’s…let’s try something new. Climb up on the bed.”

Spike looked warily at him, but obedience had become nearly automatic, so he crawled up and waited while Lindsey unlocked and removed his cock cage. It felt strange to be free. Then, at Lindsey’s direction, he flipped over onto his stomach. Lindsey went off to his cupboard and came back with his hands full. First he cuffed Spike’s wrists to the headboard, then tied his ankles to the footboard so that Spike was spread-eagled. He placed a leather mask over Spike’s eyes. The restraints and loss of sensory information made Spike panic a bit, but Lindsey ran a calming hand over his back and buttocks until Spike relaxed.

“I’m gonna gag you now,” Lindsey said. “Don’t freak. It’s a good thing, believe me. It’ll help you let go.”

Spike was skeptical, but he allowed Lindsey to push a plastic ball between his teeth. Lindsey tied the gag tightly behind Spike’s head. “Don’t worry about the drool. You can change my bedding later.”

Spike couldn’t hear Lindsey’s footsteps very well on the thick carpet, but he had a sense that the man was moving towards the foot of the bed. A second later, there was a loud _swoosh_ sound, but before Spike could think about what it might be, something long and hard smacked against his arse. He yelped into the gag and tried to move, but could only manage a useless sort of humping motion. In any case, the next moment the toy inside him began to vibrate and he moaned instead and his poor, neglected cock immediately grew hard.

Just when he’d begun to move his hips a bit, trying to get some friction against the sheets, the toy stopped and the cane came down on him again.

After that, he lost track of what was happening to him. Sometimes Lindsey hit him on the arse or thighs, sometimes he worked the plug, sometimes he did both at once. Spike gave up struggling and let his limbs go limp. Pain and pleasure melted together until the line between them blurred completely, until they were one and the same thing. He let himself howl and moan and make all sorts of animal noises and it didn’t matter because the gag muffled them all.

He might have blacked out, because the next thing he knew Lindsey was unfastening the restraints and removing the gag, then gently wiping Spike’s cheeks and chin. He didn’t take away the blindfold yet, and Spike was grateful because vision would have been too much for him. Lindsey climbed into bed beside him and held him close, covering Spike’s body in long, soothing strokes and crooning nonsense into his ear. Spike was trembling, not from fear but from release, as if his muscles had been too long overtaxed and were only now resting, or as if he were in shock. He realized with a slight start that his cock was soft and his groin sticky—somewhere in the mix of agony and ecstasy he’d climaxed.

At last, Lindsey took the mask away, but Spike kept his eyes closed and draped himself more tightly against Lindsey’s hot, muscular body. He felt like he was floating.

After some time, Lindsey stood. Spike expected to be shooed back to his own room then. But Lindsey only peeled off his clothing, leaving it in a pile on the floor, and then climbed back under the covers with Spike. He drew Spike into his arms and held him tightly.

“Mess,” Spike said sleepily.

“Don’t worry about it. We’ll deal in the morning.” Lindsey combed his fingers through Spike’s hair, and that’s how Spike fell asleep, feeling warm and safe and cared for.

 

***

 

Lindsey had other new ideas as well. In the evenings, he put a cushion on the floor near his feet and told Spike to sit there, rather than at the other end of the sofa. Spike did, and he’d lean up against Lindsey’s legs while Lindsey played with Spike’s hair, running the little curls through his fingers and tugging lightly at them. When Spike found himself turning his head and nuzzling at Lindsey’s denim-clad thigh, Lindsey didn’t stop him. In fact, the first night of this Lindsey took his jeans off and then repositioned himself so Spike was between his knees. Then Spike of his own accord turned around and gave Lindsey a long, leisurely blowjob, not caring that his own cock was locked away in its cage. After that night, Lindsey took his trousers off after dinner and spent the rest of the evening in his tight white briefs.

As Spike gave in to everything, he didn’t feel like he was surrendering. He was in a bit of a haze, but it was a pleasant one, like being just slightly stoned.

On Sunday morning Lindsey made sure Spike’s plug and harness and cage were all secure, and then he gave Spike a pair of jeans and a black tee and his boots, and told him to get dressed. It was chilly out, and with a little flourish Lindsey also handed over a black leather motorcycle jacket, the sort with lots of zips and pockets. Spike liked it very much, and Lindsey said he looked delicious in it. Lindsey himself was just wearing faded jeans and an old UC Hastings t-shirt. He had on brown cowboy boots and a short woolen coat.

This time they drove west and then north, and then west again, until Spike could smell the salty tang of the ocean. They stopped at a little café for lunch and then drove a bit more, until they were in a car park inside a state park. The wind whipped at their hair as they walked on a pathway that clung to a cliff, and then Lindsey was pointing down at the shore, where elephant seals were humped on the gravel along with their newborn calves.

They hiked some more after that, and they were both starving when they drove back into the nearest town for a hearty dinner. Lindsey ordered a bottle of Pinot Gris but Spike drank it all, so he was sleepy when they returned to the car, and he dozed the whole way home. The sound of Lindsey singing along with the radio wove in and out of his dreams.

It was late when they finally pulled into the garage at Lindsey’s house. Spike yawned and stretched and started to head for his own room, but Lindsey pulled him towards his. They both stripped, but they didn’t shag. Instead, they fell asleep wrapped up in one another’s arms.

 

***

 

When Lindsey came home Monday night it was very late and he was distracted. He wouldn’t say much to Spike over dinner and when Spike tried to make conversation, Lindsey snapped at him. He remained fully dressed after dinner and shook Spike away like an annoying fly when Spike sat in his usual place near Lindsey’s legs.

Spike sulked on the sofa for a time. When he couldn’t stand it any longer he said, “Did you speak with him?”

Lindsey turned and looked at him with an odd expression Spike couldn’t read at all. “Yeah,” he said.

“And?”

“We’re working something out.”

_What the bloody hell does that mean?_ Spike wondered. But Lindsey was clearly in no mood to expand on his statement. Spike waited for a while longer, and then stomped angrily up to his room, where he turned the telly up loud, like a petulant child.

Several hours later, Spike turned the stupid thing off and went to wash up before bed. As he was getting into bed, though, he heard a guitar playing, something low and sad. And Lindsey was singing along.

Spike padded down the hallway and stuck his head inside the doorway of Lindsey’s room. Lindsey was sitting on his loveseat, strumming away on his guitar. It was the first time Spike had seen him play. He looked up at Spike but didn’t stop playing.

Spike leaned in the doorframe, looking as nonchalant as a bloke could in a cock cage and anal plug harness. Lindsey was good, he thought. His gravelly voice softened up just a bit as he sang and the chords he played were spare and haunting.

“What was that song?’ Spike asked when Lindsey was through. “I didn’t recognize it.”

Lindsey’s cheeks colored slightly. “I, uh, I wrote it. Long time ago.”

“It’s good.”

Lindsey ducked his head shyly. “Not really. But thanks.”

“No, it is. You’re good.”

Lindsey shrugged. “Not good enough.”

“You wanted to be a pro?”

“Yeah. I was in a band, back in college. The Lone Wolves. Stupid-ass name. We played some gigs, earned just about enough for gas money and a few amps, that was all. Always hoped we’d get a record contract, make it big. We never did.”

“Perhaps your bandmates weren’t as good as you.”

“Yeah, well, a couple of ‘em kinda sucked, actually. The drummer was pretty good. They were my friends, though, so you know….”

“So you went to law school instead.”

“Yep.” Lindsey plucked away at the guitar, not really playing a song, just making pleasing sounds.

“What happened to them?” Spike asked. “Your mates, I mean. Haven’t seen you talk to anyone but me, really.”

“We grew apart. I didn’t have time for anything but work and school when I was at Hastings.”

“And after?”

Lindsey sighed. “After…there was Giles. And a shitload of work. By the time I finally cut myself free of him…I dunno. I suppose I was out of the habit of friendship. A habit you really never took up, huh?”

Spike thought about arguing the point, but Lindsey was right, and Spike nodded. “’S funny. When we first met, I’d have thought a bloke like you had everything. Do you reckon that money’s going to fill that big hole in you?”

“Maybe. If not, I’d rather be rich and miserable than poor and miserable. Least I’m trying. You’ve been just rattling around, picking up and leaving every time a miracle doesn’t dump True Happiness into your lap.”

Another good point, Spike thought, but it still stung. “Maybe some people aren’t meant to find a deep meaning in life. Maybe some of us just sort of manage until we die.”

Lindsey shook his head. “No. I can’t accept that.”

“You think God has some purpose for you, is that it? Big bloke with a white beard looking down at you, making sure you get what’s coming to you?”

“No. I mean…I’m kinda agnostic. I’d like to think that somewhere the Powers That Be—whatever they are—are kinda keeping an eye on things in general. But I doubt they give a rat’s ass about me. It’s just, I don’t believe in letting things go. Four, five generations of my family did that, drinking themselves to death in the middle of fucking nowhere. I’m gonna do what I can to get what I want.”

“Like me?” Spike asked softly. “Was I what you wanted?”

Lindsey stared at him for a minute. “You were a whim. A pretty toy that looked all shiny in the window.”

Spike nodded. “Right, then.” He started to turn away, to return to his borrowed bed.

“Wait.” Lindsey’s command stopped him. He followed all of his owner’s orders, didn’t he? “You were…an impulse. But lately I’ve been thinking you’re what I need.”

Spike opened his mouth and then shut it, completely at a loss as to how to respond. And he didn’t need to, because Lindsey stood and set the guitar down. With a small grin, he said, “C’mere, boy. I think it’s time for another lesson.”

 

***

 

Spike enjoyed sharing a bed with Lindsey. He enjoyed it even more when he woke up and his sore arse gave a pleasant twinge, and then he blew Lindsey before Lindsey got out of bed. Feeling warm and lazy, he watched Lindsey shower and dress, and then Lindsey planted a little kiss on his forehead before he left.

He lounged around for a while after Lindsey left. Then he got up and used the loo—he still hated having to sit to piss—and washed up. He spent an hour or so blasting music while using Lindsey’s exercise equipment. The plug was a bit uncomfortable, but he’d become so used to it that he felt empty during those rare times when Lindsey removed it. It had grown too cold to use the pool. He considered soaking for a time in the hot tub instead, but then just took a long, hot shower. He ran his hands over the planes of his body as the water sluiced over him. It was frustrating not to be able to have a nice little wank, but he could still enjoy the feel of his own lean, hard muscles. He’d been fairly fit before he went to jail, but all the time with nothing to do but work out had left him in the best shape of his life.

When he was dry and his hair was combed and his face shaved, Spike headed downstairs for some breakfast. He’d been able to persuade Lindsey to buy him some tea. Lindsey wouldn’t touch the stuff himself, but at least Spike could have a cuppa in the morning with his toast and eggs.

The day stretched out before him, as long and featureless as the rest. He was used to that as well, though. He’d discovered that his restrictive situation gave him an odd sort of freedom. He no longer had to worry about paying the bills, he needn’t agonize over his inability to find companionship, and he didn’t find himself constantly wondering whether it was time to move on in search of greener pastures. He had only a few choices to make, and they were very simple ones. By giving himself up to Lindsey he’d gained a sort of serenity in exchange.

He rooted around in the kitchen to decide what to make for dinner, then he dusted and swept and vacuumed. He still felt silly flitting around the house clad only in his bondage gear and wielding housecleaning supplies, like some sort of daft fairy. At least Lindsey hadn’t got it in his head to make Spike wear a French maid’s kit.

When the house was sparkling, Spike changed the bed linens and started a load of laundry. By then it was lunchtime and he ate a sandwich while pretending not to watch the _Ellen DeGeneres Show_. Afterwards he read the new Stephen King book he’d bought on his last visit to Barnes &amp; Noble, and then began to prepare dinner. He set some chicken breasts to marinate in a nice garlicky sauce he’d seen on _The Barefoot Contessa_ and chopped some vegetables for a big salad. He’d lately taken up bread baking because it took up a good amount of time, and so for tonight he mixed the dough for some onion rolls and let it rise. He never knew exactly when Lindsey would arrive home, but he could have the chicken grilled and ready, so when Lindsey got there Spike would only have to pop the pasta in boiling water, re-warm the rolls, and mix the chicken and noodles with a bit of extra sauce.

By 7:30, the house smelled brilliant and Spike’s stomach was growling. As soon as he heard the garage door open, he turned on the flame under the pot and raced to the door. He used to try to pretend to be nonchalant, but he’d given that up ages ago. He suspected that if it weren’t for the cage, his cock would be hard and as eager for Lindsey as the rest of him.

When Lindsey walked through the door, though, he looked grim. Spike took his things as he always did. “What’s wrong?” Spike asked.

“Spike, I—“

Lindsey was interrupted when another man appeared behind him. Spike gasped in surprise and tried to bolt, but Lindsey grabbed his arm. “Spike,” he said through tightened lips. “This is Rupert Giles.”

[Chapter 7 ](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/125206.html)


	7.  A Fate Worse than Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   Human-AU. The Assistant District Attorney, Lindsey McDonald, makes accused murderer William Pratt an offer he can't afford to refuse. 

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[a fate worse than death](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/a%20fate%20worse%20than%20death), [spike/dru](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/dru), [spike/giles](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/giles), [spike/lindsey](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/lindsey)  
  
---|---  
  
_**A Fate Worse than Death (7/8)**_  
**Title: **A Fate Worse than Death   
**Chapter:** 7 of 8   
**Pairing:** Spike/Lindsey (with bits of Spike/Dru and Spike/Giles)    
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer: **I'm not Joss   
**Warnings:**  angst, slash, dub-con, BDSM    
**Summary:**  Human-AU. The Assistant District Attorney, Lindsey McDonald, makes accused murderer William Pratt an offer he can't afford to refuse.    
**AN:**  The fabulous [](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/profile)[**blondebitz**](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/)  asked for HAU Splindsey, and I was very pleased to give it a shot. I hope you like it, my dear! All of the wonderful banners are her work. The fic is complete and I'll post one chapter a day.

[Previous chapters here.](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=A+Fate+Worse+then+Death&filter=all)

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/0009z544/)  
---  
  
**Seven**

 

“Quite nice.” Giles’s tone of voice made it clear he’d had low expectations. “Lindsey, do get out of the way so I can have a better look. And take those things away.”

Lindsey was still clutching Spike’s bicep hard enough to bruise, and Spike was still holding Lindsey’s briefcase and papers. Lindsey hesitated only a moment before releasing his grip and then removing his belongings from Spike. Spike considered running, but where would he go, wearing only his bloody bondage gear? So instead he stood tall and straight and glared at Giles as if the man weren’t looking him over like a hunk of meat for sale.

The DA was tall and perhaps fifty years old. He looked like a politician, Spike thought—handsome, but not overly so, a bit stern in a fatherly sort of way. He had a prominent chin and sandy hair, and his light eyes seemed to darken as they stared at Spike. He was English, which was a surprise. His accent was very Oxbridge, but Spike could detect a hint of something a bit more downmarket underneath.

Giles walked slowly around him. Spike’s skin crawled with the weight of the man’s gaze, and he had to clench his teeth tightly to avoid saying something foolish.

“Yes, quite nice indeed. I’d have assumed his type might be somewhat…rougher.”

Lindsey came a step closer. “Look, Rupert, I—“ He stopped when Giles held up a silencing hand.

“It’s late. I’m still tired from my travels and I’m hungry. Let’s eat and then we can discuss this after.”

Lindsey’s jaw worked for a moment and then he turned to Spike with something like supplication in his eyes. “Spike, go set the table for two.” Ah, so Spike wasn’t to join them at the meal. Well, that was fine; he wasn’t hungry anymore anyway.

The other two men chatted quietly over glasses of wine while Spike finished dinner. After he served it to them, he hovered uncertainly until Lindsey gestured at him to kneel at Lindsey’s side. With a silent sigh, Spike did so.

“This is very good,” Giles said, swallowing a big forkful. “I’m regretting not having taught you to cook properly.”

“The lessons wouldn’t have taken. If it ain’t on a barbeque, I can’t make it.”

“Oh, I imagine you would have learned eventually, given the proper incentives.” The look on his face and the way Lindsey shuddered suggested to Spike that Giles’s incentives were mostly of the punishment sort.

Spike stopped listening as the lawyers droned on about some drunk-driving case Lindsey had been working on—some cow had run over a man on a bicycle and killed him—and the new police chief’s proposed anti-gang initiatives. Lindsey had to tap him on the head to get his attention when the meal was through.

While Spike cleared the table and washed up, Lindsey poured some whiskey for himself and Giles, and the two of them wandered into the living room. Spike eventually joined them and was again waved to kneel beside Lindsey.

“I know about your arrangement with Lindsey. Spike, is it?” It was the first time Giles had addressed him, and it startled Spike slightly, but he nodded.

“You do understand that this is highly illegal? A word from me and you’re back in jail, while Lindsey faces several rather serious charges himself.”

“Yeah,” Spike said.

“Yes, _sir_.”

Spike clenched his hands into fists and said, “Yes, sir.”

The DA took a delicate sip from his tumbler of whiskey. “I’ve told Lindsey that I’m willing to overlook this particular indiscretion…so long as he—and you as well, of course—remain cooperative.”

Spike glanced up at Lindsey, who was staring sullenly into his own drink. Spike had a pretty good notion of what this cooperation was going to entail. He could refuse, of course. He was fairly certain nobody was going to actually hold him down and rape him. But then where would that get him? And, despite the fact that Lindsey was now whoring him out, Spike found himself loathe to see the man sent to prison. He reckoned that prison would not be a fun place for a former prosecutor.

“Yes, sir,” Spike repeated.

Lindsey let out a long, noisy sigh, and Giles smiled. “This is going to work out even better than I’d planned,” he said. Spike wasn’t sure what that meant.

 

***

 

Giles took possession of Lindsey’s bedroom as if it were his own. He ordered Lindsey to remove the harness and butt plug. The cage, however, remained locked around Spike’s cock. He watched expressionlessly as Spike used the loo and then, to heighten Spike’s humiliation, he had Lindsey clean Spike’s backside with a damp flannel. “Make sure you get inside as well,” Giles said. Spike was bent over in front of the sink, avoiding his own reflection in the mirror. When Lindsey said he was finished, Giles leaned close to inspect his work, then slapped Spike playfully on the arse.

“Lubricate him,” Giles said when he was satisfied with Lindsey’s job. Spike felt like a thing, not even worthy of being spoken to, like a bloody blow-up doll. But he simply pillowed his head with his arms as the familiar intrusion of Lindsey’s fingers slicked him up. For once, he was grateful for the cage, because he didn’t want to get hard in front of Lindsey’s tosser of a boss.

When Spike was ready, Giles grabbed his collar and used it to haul him upright. The action made Spike choke a bit, but that clearly didn’t put the DA off any. He dragged Spike over to the loveseat and bent him over the back of it, then spent several minutes pinching and squeezing and swatting Spike’s arse. Spike had his eyes closed and didn’t know where Lindsey was, whether he was watching, what expression was on his face.

“I believe he could use more color on his cheeks. Fetch me the flogger, Lindsey.”

Of course the old sod would assume that Lindsey owned a flogger, and of course he was correct. Lindsey must have obeyed because a few moments later Spike heard the familiar _swish_, and then the leather straps came down on the sensitive skin just above his thighs.

Giles spent some time beating him. At one point he kicked Spike’s legs farther apart so he could have better access to Spike’s vulnerable, hanging bollocks. Spike bit his lip hard enough to taste blood but he didn’t cry out, didn’t make any sound at all other than loud exhales and an occasional grunt.

The DA was slightly out of breath by the time he let the flogger drop to the floor. Spike heard him unfasten his zip and then, a second later, the man shoved his cock inside Spike. He wasn’t as gentle as Lindsey, but Spike had learned to ignore the pain, and he merely braced himself against the back of the loveseat as Giles pounded into him. There was no pleasure in it for Spike.

It didn’t take long before Giles groaned and came, then pulled out. He tossed his used condom onto the carpet. Spike relaxed a bit, thankful that at least the ordeal was over. But then Giles grabbed his collar again and shoved him to his knees. “Come here, boy,” he commanded, and Spike realized he was talking not to him, but to Lindsey. “I want to see him suck you off.” He tucked himself away inside his posh trousers as he waited for Lindsey to approach.

Lindsey didn’t meet Spike’s eyes at all. He simply undid his flies and rested his hands on Spike’s shoulders, as Spike took the familiar cock into his mouth. Giles watched closely for a time, then bent and retrieved the flogger. Spike steeled himself for more whipping, and he was shocked when Lindsey yelped and was driven deep into Spike’s throat. Giles had shoved Lindsey’s trousers down to his knees and was beating him now, each blow forcing his hips forward, thrusting his cock into Spike’s mouth. Lindsey’s fingers felt hard as steel where they dug into Spike’s shoulders. Lindsey cried out when he came, but it sounded more like despair than satisfaction.

The old man must have taken his little blue pill. He yanked Lindsey away and replaced Lindsey’s cock with his own. He wasn’t as big as Lindsey, but unlike the other man, he was uncut, and the foreskin felt strange against Spike’s tongue. He tasted differently as well, and Spike wondered whether every man tasted different, and whether it was an innate thing or due to diet or the brands of soaps and detergents the bloke used.

Giles stopped before he climaxed, rolled on another condom, and again buggered Spike, this time more brutally than before. When he was finally finished, Spike felt exhausted and used, as filthy as the floor of a train station bog.

Giles and Lindsey went away, leaving Spike huddled miserably on the carpet.

 

***

 

He might have dozed. In any case, it was some time before Lindsey returned. He helped Spike to his feet and unlocked the cock cage. Then he led Spike into his bathroom, where the bathtub was filled with steaming water, slightly scented by some kind of spicy bath oil. Lindsey urged Spike into the bath. Even though the welts on his arse and legs and scrotum stung, and his sphincter felt as if he’d been rogered by a barge pole, the water felt lovely. He sank down into it until his head was the only bit of him not submerged. His eyelids felt incredibly heavy, and he allowed them to fall shut.

“I’m sorry,” Lindsey said in a near-whisper. “I didn’t want—I didn’t have any choice—I’m sorry.”

Spike didn’t answer.

“I fucked up. I was trying to get him to let me talk to Darla, and I let it slip about you…. Shit. He could always play me. He still can. I think he knew about you already. I think he might’ve even set us up to begin with. Christ, I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry you had to share your toy? Sorry I’m not so shiny anymore?” It hurt to talk, as if thick flesh was still lodged in his throat.

“No, man! I’m sorry I let him….” He sank his face into his hands. “Fuck. I can’t do this anymore.”

Neither of them said anything after that. Spike soaked until the water cooled, and when he reached over to open the drain, Lindsey stood and handed him a towel. Lindsey waited for Spike to dry himself, then reinstalled the plug and harness and cage. Spike limped off to his own room by himself. He couldn’t sleep, though, and twice he got up to go retch into his toilet.

 

***

 

It was past ten when Spike woke up and Lindsey was long gone. Spike lay curled in a fetal position for a very long time, until his bladder insisted he get up.

He exercised until his body was slick with sweat and his muscles screamed in protest, until he was so weak he could barely stand any longer.

He had tea and toast for lunch and scrubbed the kitchen, which was already clean, and then sat on the sofa in the family room, blindly flicking through the hundreds of channels.

He didn’t make anything for dinner. There were plenty of leftovers from the night before.

And then he just waited, feeling blank and empty. Feeling like something was broken in him, something that could never be mended.

Lindsey arrived home at 5:30, so much earlier than usual that Spike was startled. Lindsey was alone this time. Spike took his things from him mechanically, a flesh and blood machine, and placed them on the sideboard in the dining room. They ate the leftovers, neither of them speaking, neither even looking at the other.

Lindsey disappeared while Spike was washing up. When Spike walked hesitantly into the family room, Lindsey entered from the other direction, from the living room. “Come here,” he said, and Spike did.

In the middle of the rarely used living room, Spike stood while Lindsey unlocked his harness and cage, carefully withdrew the butt plug, and tossed everything aside. And then, to Spike’s shock, he also unfastened the collar and threw it away as well. Spike felt more naked than he had in months.

“I’m sorry, Spike. God, I really am.” He looked years older than he had just a few days earlier.

“What…what are you doing?” It was difficult for Spike to choke the words out.

Lindsey gestured at a small pile of clothing that sat on a chair. Spike’s clothing. Jeans and shirt and jacket and boots. “The deal is off. It’s over. You can get dressed.”

“Over? You fucking _bastard_! I let you use me—I let that son of a bitch use me—and now you’re sending back to jail? Did you find someone newer, less ruined?”

Lindsey grabbed Spike’s shoulders. “No! God, no! I wouldn’t—Listen! I just meant you’re free. You can go now, go anywhere you want, and I’ll make sure no charges are ever filed.”

Spike looked at him incredulously. What new trick was this?

Lindsey scurried around the sofa and came back dragging a big black suitcase. “Look, this has all your clothes in it, your books. And here.” He withdrew a manila envelope from the inside of his suit jacket and held it out towards Spike. “There’s five thousand bucks in there. It’s the most I could get on such short notice. And there’s the title to the car. I’ve already signed it over to you.”

“Wh-why?”

“Because if you stay here, that motherfucker is gonna keep coming after you. What he did to you last night…that’s only an appetizer. He was kinda careful with me when I was his boy, ‘cause if he really hurt me he’d be in trouble. But you, you’re not even officially here. As far as anyone knows, you skipped town the minute you got out of jail. He figures I won’t say anything, or else my career will be ruined. He figures he can do anything he wants to you.”

Spike shook his head, confused. “Won’t he be angry with you if I go?”

“Yeah. But not angry enough to do much about it, I don’t think. He still wants to get Angel without dragging himself and Darla through the mud and I’m still his best bet for that.”

“And why do you give a fuck what he does to me?”

 “Because I care--.” He stopped himself and gnawed at his lip a moment. “Because I’m not what he is. I’m a selfish sonofabitch but I’m not him.”

None of this was what Spike had expected. In a daze, he walked the few steps over to the chair and pulled on his clothing. It felt strange not to be wearing the cage and harness underneath his jeans, and his neck felt too light, as if the collar had been keeping something important in place. When he was dressed, he took the envelope from Lindsey and stuffed it inside his jacket. Lindsey handed him the car keys as well.

Spike grasped the suitcase handle and pulled the luggage after himself as they walked to the garage. Lindsey opened the door and Spike threw the bag in the boot.

Then they just stood there awkwardly. It was Lindsey who spoke first. “I am sorry, Spike. I wish things had—Well, I’m sorry.”

Spike nodded. “Thank you for believing I’m innocent. And for this.” He waved towards the BMW. “And—you taught me some things. Thank you for that as well.”

There was really nothing more to say, at least nothing Spike could manage to force past his lips. He got into the car and started the engine. Lindsey was still standing there, his hand raised in a little wave, as Spike pulled away.

[Chapter 8](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/125597.html) 


	8.  A Fate Worse than Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   Human-AU. The Assistant District Attorney, Lindsey McDonald, makes accused murderer William Pratt an offer he can't afford to refuse. 

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[a fate worse than death](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/a%20fate%20worse%20than%20death), [spike/dru](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/dru), [spike/giles](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/giles), [spike/lindsey](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/lindsey)  
  
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_**A Fate Worse than Death (8/8)**_  
**Title: **A Fate Worse than Death   
**Chapter:** 8 of 8   
**Pairing:** Spike/Lindsey (with bits of Spike/Dru and Spike/Giles)    
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer: **I'm not Joss   
**Warnings:**  angst, slash, dub-con, BDSM    
**Summary:**  Human-AU. The Assistant District Attorney, Lindsey McDonald, makes accused murderer William Pratt an offer he can't afford to refuse.    
**AN:**  The fabulous [](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/profile)[**blondebitz**](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/)  asked for HAU Splindsey, and I was very pleased to give it a shot. I hope you like it, my dear! All of the wonderful banners are her work. The fic is complete and I'll post one chapter a day.

[Previous chapters here.](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=A+Fate+Worse+then+Death&filter=all)

**We've reached the end of our twisted little adventure. Thank you for reading and commenting, and extra thanks to [](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/profile)[**blondebitz**](http://blondebitz.livejournal.com/)  for the inspiration and art!**   


[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/000a00gc/)  
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**Eight**

 

“Oi, Mike, I’m taking off!” Spike called across the room. “I’ll finish up that Explorer in the morning.”

“No problem,” Mike yelled back. “Lady wasn’t expecting it back ‘til Monday anyways.”

Spike shrugged on his jacket, walked out into the light rain, and climbed into his truck. He’d kept the BMW for a few weeks after he’d arrived in Eugene, but it had taken him some time to find a job, and in the end he decided he needed the dosh more than a fancy car. He’d sold it and bought himself a project, a ’55 Ford F100 that the previous owner had given up on. But the old beast had good bones and, Spike knew, still had some life in her. He’d tinkered and puttered with her, and by the time he’d found himself a position in a garage, she was running pretty well. Mike owned the body and paint shop next door as well, and he’d cut Spike a really good deal. Now the truck purred like a tiger and sparkled prettily in fire engine red. The upholstery still wasn’t great, though, and Spike reckoned he’d tackle that next.

Tonight, though, Spike parked the truck on the street in front of the old house where his flat was, and he walked the half-dozen blocks to an internet café. The kid behind the counter—a goth girl with dyed-black hair and a half dozen piercings—gave him a bright smile. “Hey, Spike. The usual?”

“Yeah, pet. And…a piece of that chocolate cake as well.”

She took his money and, a few moments later, set his mug and plate and teabag on the counter. He stuffed a dollar in the tip jar, snagged a fork from the metal bucket, and took his things over to his favorite computer.

As usual, the first thing he did was to type in the URL for the Modesto Bee. And there was the headline he’d been expecting: “O’CONNOR GETS LIFE.” Spike sat back in his chair and sipped his Earl Grey with satisfaction. Angel had copped a plea on the double homicide after Penn testified against him in exchange for a plea deal of his own. It had been Penn who staked those kids after all. His alibis had fallen apart when the prosecutor revealed that Penn had a cousin who looked close enough like him to fool a dying old woman and doctors who were more focused on the patient than the grieving relative. Penn had simply donned a platinum blond wig, and that had been enough to fool the people who’d seen him outside the victims’ flat. Spike wondered how Lindsey had learned about the cousin. Darla, perhaps. Perhaps she’d known about the entire scheme. Her name never came up at trial.

 Between the two murder charges and the drug rap that Lindsey had managed to hang on him at trial, Angel was never going to see the outside of a prison again.

There were photos along with the article. The victims, looking young and happy. It made Spike sad to see them. Buffy Summers had made a serious mistake when she’d chosen to deal drugs, a mistake she’d paid for with her life, and so had her boyfriend. They were just kids, and kids do stupid things. But at least some semblance of justice had been served.

Another photo was of Angel looking furious as he was taken away in handcuffs. And there was one of the promising young prosecutor who’d won the case, standing outside the courtroom and smiling, with the DA’s hand resting on his shoulder in a fatherly way. Spike stared at that one so long the screen saver went on.

 

 

***

 

Spike had been in this flat nearly two years now, longer than he’d been anywhere since he was fifteen. It looked lived-in. There were stacks of books everywhere—he’d filled the shelves some months ago—and a Wii console by the television, with a small pile of games. The kitchen was tiny, but he could cook a real meal there, and he often did. Even if he was the only one who ate it, he enjoyed preparing it, enjoyed eating proper food. The sofa was ratty, but he had one really nice, big armchair, and that’s where he liked to sit and read or watch telly. He often ate there as well, because his table was frequently covered by newspapers, on top of which were arrayed bits of grease-covered metal, whatever small project he was working on at the moment.

Sometimes on weekends he thought he might go to a bar, strike up a conversation with someone, but he never did. He’d been out a few times with the blokes from the garage, and that was all.

Eugene was all right. It wasn’t his dream city, but it wasn’t any worse than any place else. There was no reason for him to move on, not now that he’d realized that no matter where he went, he’d never find that elusive something he’d been searching for his entire life. After all, no matter the location, he was still himself.

Sometimes, as he sat in his flat and listened to the house settle and creak, or heard the upstairs neighbor’s footsteps moving about, he thought about a book he’d once read on religion. According to the book, some people believe that when a person dies, his soul sits around in some sort of spiritual waiting room until it is reborn in a new body. Eugene was no spirit world—Spike expected that the spectral realms had rather less hemp and tie-dye—but that was how he felt: as if he’d died and was waiting for rebirth. Or, perhaps, as if he were a puzzle that had been partially put together, but the final pieces were still missing.

It wasn’t the best way to live a life, probably, but it was what he had, and he wasn’t exactly unhappy with it.

 

***

 

When the knock sounded on his door, Spike startled. He rarely had visitors. Perhaps it was the graduate student who lived down the hall. The bloke was apparently some sort of engineering prodigy, but he couldn’t manage to get his own car started half of the time.

But when he opened the door, it wasn’t the student who was standing there.

“Hi,” said Lindsey.

Spike just gaped at him.

“Can I come in?”

Wordlessly, Spike stood aside so Lindsey could enter. Spike shut the door behind him and then turned around to gawk some more. Lindsey was carrying a paper grocery sack, which he set on the sofa. He wandered a bit, picking up a book here and there, reading the title, then setting it down.

“How…how…?” Spike stuttered.

Lindsey grinned. “I know some good private investigators. It’s a perk of the job.”

“But…what…why…?” Spike was wondering if he’d ever manage to utter a complete sentence again.

“I nailed him, you know. Angel. Stuck that conviction so far up his ass he’s never gonna shit it out.”

“Yeah, I read that a few weeks ago. Congratulations.”

“Rupert was so happy, you know what he did? He offered to make me Deputy DA. Number two dog. A pretty big deal for someone young as me.”

“Congratulations,” Spike said again.

“Yeah, but you know what _I_ did? I quit. Told that asshole exactly what he could do with his job. And with himself, for that matter.” Lindsey’s smile was smug. “And then I might just have left some incriminating papers where Lilah Morgan’s sure to find them. Rupert’s been up to some shady shit, and that bitch’ll be after Rupert’s throat like a pitbull. Maybe he’ll even end up cellmates with Angel.”

That image made Spike very happy. “I expect all those big law firms are courting you now, just like you hoped.”

Lindsey shrugged. “Yeah. I got some pretty attractive offers. Six figures to start and lots of fringe benefits. I turned ‘em all down.”

“Why? Thought that was your dream.”

“I thought so, too, once upon a time. But then someone pointed out to me that money probably wasn’t gonna fill the big hole in me.”

“Oh,” Spike said. He honestly couldn’t think of anything more clever to say right then; this was all a bit much all at once.

“So I packed up my guitar and a few other things. Thought maybe I’d see if I could make it as a musician. I’ve been told I’m good.” He grinned again.

A strange combination of emotions washed over Spike, mixing with the confusion that was already there. Envy over the fact that Lindsey was finding a way to seek happiness. Pride that perhaps Spike had helped him do so. Sadness over what Spike had lost—no, over what he’d never had. And gladness that Lindsey might finally find himself. “Well, best of luck, then,” Spike finally said. “There are some good clubs up in Portland. Perhaps you could find a gig up there.”

“Maybe.” Lindsey stood there a moment, biting his lip, then went over and fetched the bag he’d brought. “I packed up a few other things, too, Spike. Like this.” He stuck his hand into the sack and came out with a metal chain. A familiar metal chain with a padlock set in one end. Spike’s old collar.

“You want…you want me to be your toy again?”

Lindsey stepped closer. “No. I just…. Probably you hate me. I don’t blame you. But I came anyway, on the off-chance that you don’t. That you’d at least listen to me, Spike, because I swear, this is tearing me apart.”

“What do you want?” Spike asked quietly. He didn’t dare hope. Hope was long dead.

“The question is what _you_ want. Look, you can wear the collar—I kinda got the feeling you liked that—or I’ll wear the damn thing myself. Or I’ll just toss the thing in the trash. I don’t care. I need you, Spike. I’ve thought of you, dreamed of you every goddamn day since you left. It’s like I’m a junkie and you’re my drug. Don’t be my boy, be my man, let me be yours. Please.” His voice broke and fat tears tracked down his cheeks. “Please.”

Spike pulled in great lungfuls of oxygen, as if he’d never breathed before. As if he were newly born. He took the collar from Lindsey’s lax hand and shoved it into his own trouser pocket. There would be time later to work out whether it would be worn, and by whom. Perhaps they’d just take turns. He felt his own lips stretching in a wide, unfamiliar smile, and blinked away tears of his own.

“I reckon a struggling musician needs to be supported by someone until he gets his big break,” he said. “A mechanic brings in a pretty steady paycheck, you know. We could probably make some kind of a deal.”

Lindsey’s anxious face split into a huge grin. “Is that your truck parked outside? The old Ford?”

“Yeah.”

“Thought it might be. You let me have a turn driving that thing once in a while and I’ll agree to any deal you offer.”

They moved into each others’ arms, and Lindsey felt so strong and real against Spike, his fingers in Spike’s hair so soft and tender. “We have an agreement, then,” Spike whispered into Lindsey’s ear. And that broken bit inside Spike’s body began to mend.

 

_\---fin---_

 


End file.
